The Weather of my childhood

by Regis Boff

The weather of my childhood was sometimes a surprise.
The news accompanied the weather and was, minus the forecast, twenty-nine minutes long. If you missed any of it, it would arrive anyway. No one felt ill-equipped to handle what came.
The evening news was very serious. It was delivered by somber, just shaven guys who you suspected of bad cologne. They were not going to take any bullshit from the viewing audience. It was what you needed to know. They gave you the facts then pushed you out the door like they had other matters to attend to. It had to be done because the viewing audience were sheep that wandered inconsequentially.
No one in my generation grew up with an opinion. We didn’t feel like we lacked one though. Maybe it was because ideas weren’t practical.
It followed reasonably that if we did not care to view ourselves as indispensable to the national photograph, why fret about what the neighbors were thinking? Every person in America at that time thought their neighbors were stupid. Now we believe them dangerous.

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