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so we weren't looking them in: so we weren't looking them in the eyes

And thank you for telling me: And thank you for telling me about your experience.  I remember hearing from my grandmother that when my father, who was basically a naive farmboy, enlisted in the Marines, his personality radically changed during his experience of boot camp.  Apparently, after graduating from basic training, and before being deployed to the battleship Nevada, he had a few days leave at home and, although he looked like her son and had the name of her son, she did not recognize much of her son's personality.  Of corse, I only ever knew the post-war personality.   (A bit of trivia:  during a reunion of his unit in 1986, my father and his surviving friends were given some information by the former captain of the battleship . . . that they had been selected to be the first unit to invade the Japanese main island, and that their death certificates had already been filled out by the captain a couple of weeks in advance, because the planners in Washington had estimated that thousands of soldiers in the first invasive force would die on the beaches just to establish a foothold.  However, three days before the invasion was due to begin, the battleship received orders to turn fully about and head away from Japan at the fastest possible speed.  My father could remember feeling the ship turn radically, and then the engines running so hard that the body of the battleship actually shook.  President Truman had decided to deploy the atomic bombs, and the designers had badly overestimated the blast radius, which they believed would reach the main seas around Japan.  But at least he did not die in the invasion, as had been expected, and then thirteen years after the war . . . he adopted me!)  If this has been too verbose, feel free to delete it.

Thanks for sharing that: Thanks for sharing that experience, Starward. My dad was in Vietnam, and it really wasn't till the 70's that there was enough push back to drive some of these methods out of the school system. Though I think it also had to do with a shift away from drafts and transforming most of the public into mass consumers. Schooling took on a new task, which was to train people to spend their money, instead of their lives. But there was always that backdrop which remained - it was far more subtle for me and my classmates than for yours. We had the ROTC presence in High School, and officers began visiting our classes as early as 6th grade.   Of course, on the television I recall very well how heavy the war porn was for the Persian Gulf War. "This Scuds For You", for example. Comedy, such as pitiful shows like the Simpsons, played a big role in promoting Saddam Hussein as some sort of unique and particular anti-christ that we had to stop and kill (meanwhile we killed countless thousands of peasants around him, and he thrived for another decade and change). Post-9/11/01, it was far worse. That was what sold me on throwing out the television (well, it wasn't mine to throw out, so I just stopped watching). I've never owned a television, actually. I was just reaching the age where I would be buying one, and the constant repetition of showing a plane crashing into World Trade Center Tower 2 convinced me that would be unhealthy to do so. It made Genesis (the band) into prophets anew: "Now you never did see such a terrible thing, as you'd seen last night on the t/v. Maybe if we're lucky they will show it again, such a terrible thing to see!" Greatest choice I ever made, I'm certain.    

During my childhood in the: During my childhood in the sixties, we were subjected to all kinds of war porn in support of the conflict in Viet Nam.  In second grade, many of us boys asked for, and received from our parents, small "green berets" during the time that particular ballad was on the radio.  In my school, our third grade gym teacher was a former Marine and he wasted at least a quarter of each gyn class hour teaching us to respond to his shouts like TenHut and ParadeRest, and so forth.  Even in Cub Scouts, and, later, my two years in Scouting, there was an intensely militaristic "vibe" in everything we were taught and required to do; that vive, and, also, a tacit demand for conformity.  Even when I went up to college, my parents were dismayed that I attend class in bell-bottom jeans and, on balmy days, flipflops instead of shoes and socks.  

Thank you very much for: Thank you very much for commenting on this small tale about the smallest member of my family, yet one who is so big-hearted.  Yes, she was traumatized and never ventured up there again.  When we first rescued Zoey, she could not climb up the three front porch steps at the residence in which we were then living.  By the time we brought my mother to live with us, in the larger house, she could almost leap up the steps to the bookroom, and, on the afternoon of the sighting, she came down those steps with equal speed.      Zoey also had a way of diagnosing us when we are facing an illness.  She would approach whichever one of us was sick, and just sit and stare into our eyes, as if she was obsessing over something.  Within twenty-four hours or less, whichever one of us was stared at became ill.  She has a fairly accurate record with that, until recently.  Now she is lame and tired all the time, and sleeps most of the day and night.       When I was thirteen, my parents bought me a very pedigreed cocker spaniel pup, jet black, whom I named Monica, and with whom I bonded immediately.  She could read all of my moods.  Twelve years later, she developed a stomach cancer, and the vet wanted to put her down.  I asked him how long she might have to live, and he said a matter of three or four months.  I asked him if she was in pain, and he said no, and even demonstrated by pressing her abdomen and she did not respond.  He said it would eventually become too painful for her to stretch out on the flloor.  I told him if he thought she had three or four months, we would give it to her and bring her in only upon the very first indication of pain.  That was in the summer of 1983; Monica lived until late May of 1986.  She had stretched out that May morning and began to whimper, so, while I was at work, my father took her to the vet.  I never thought I would ever meet another dog as empathetic as Monica was, until I met Zoey.  

Knowing you, your collection: Knowing you, your collection of books was amazing, so perhaps Mrs. Brown just wanted to take a peek.   What a fascinating story. Sometimes real life experience is more compelling than fiction, especially when narrated with skill.   Just sorry little Zoey was traumatized.      

An urgent call for a more: An urgent call for a more egalitarian, a more civilized, worldview. I was struck by your inventive, poignant and visionary approach to the subject. Nothing stale or preachy here! Perhaps it all begins in the heart of a true Poet.    Well said!