“Grandpa, Grandpa,” he’ll say to me. “My teacher told me that I had to interview a… “Grandpa, Grandpa,” he’ll say to me. “My teacher told me that I had to interview a relative who was alive when the United States invaded Iraq.”

“All right.”

“Well, if you were over there I’m supposed to ask about that. But if not, I’m supposed to find out what life was like at home – how you’re daily life changed and if you remember any changes in the general mood of America.” I imagine my grandson, let’s call him Patrick, will be about 12 years old. “So Grandpa, what was it like?”

“Oh, Patrick,” I’ll say in my worn and wise grandfather voice. “I’m afraid I’m probably going to disappoint you.”

“What do you mean Grandpa? It must have been exciting – people marching in the streets almost every day, the economy in trouble, the constant threat of terrorism, a country at war! I can’t imagine what it would be to live like that.”

“No, it really wasn’t as sensational as all that. My life went virtually unchanged – at least as far as consequential matters went. I was writing a column for the student newspaper when all this began and I remember being annoyed that the war had monopolized all the media so that it was hard for me to find something original to write about.

I remember where I was when Bush first announced that we were at war. But that doesn’t really mean anything. I’d say the only big change was that instead of social small talk branching into random topics, it tended to center around the war. People got drunk and high and argued genially because no one really cared about what was going on.

I know a few people who got really worked up, but they were the exceptions and didn’t initiate any sort of general mood change. They would cry or keep to themselves and others would look at them as if to say, “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you cope like the rest of us?”

Sometimes they’d speak up and say, “I have a brother – or cousin or friend – over there!” But everyone had either a brother, a cousin or a friend over there and that fact alone didn’t create too much sympathy from anyone.

There were a lot of protests but even they weren’t that exciting. They didn’t consist of the impassioned people you might expect. In fact the more impassioned someone was, generally speaking, the less of a grasp they had on the issues. For most protestors the march was what they did for a few hours that day and nothing more. I guess no one had any real hope they might actually change things.

By evening guy protesters would end up at the same parties, wearing the same clothes as everyone else and turn the whole event into a pick-up line to try and score with some drunk girl wearing tie-dye.”

“Score?”

“Uh, nevermind that part Patrick. Yeah, it was mostly little things that didn’t really affect my life in any lasting way. My friends and I would talk about how the Cathedral of Learning was the tallest academic building in the United States and a perfect terrorist target. We’d say these things and silence would ensue. We’d try and figure out how the terrorists would attack it. But there was no real fear. I don’t know of anyone who actually tried to avoid the building.

Professors would awkwardly try and relate whatever we were studying to something in relation to the war in a desperate attempt to convince us that their course material was real and modern and alive as part of today’s world. But none of them went so far as to change the test accordingly. So no one really cared.”

“So nothing really changed?”

“Oh, I suppose we came out of the whole thing with a greater respect for our troops. And oil prices dropped. But nothing of the kind of change you’re looking for.”

“Why not?”

“Well, people didn’t feel the injustice of either Hussein or the U.S. government in their daily lives. Iraq is far, far away, and people are lazy.”

“I think that’s stupid.”

Questions, comments, insights or suggestions? Send an e-mail to [email protected].