How far can the fruit fall from the tree?

This weekend, I went to Southern California (Orange County to be specific) for a few days to undergo some obligatory, family events -- a cousin's oldest son was having his first communion, my godson was doing the same thing, and my parents celebrated their 41st anniversary. A lot of parties were had. A lot of excessive eating, gossiping too loudly, and carrying on took place.

It's no secret to most people who've witnessed one of my hater moods that I don't like Orange County. I don't like anything about it: the way it's called The O.C. (as if it's serious enough to carry a definite article a la the Hague), the homogeneous conservatism that persists still now after 2 terms with George W., and particularly the people who inhabit it, and the sprawl that they inhabit. Yet, 90% of the extended family I knew growing up, which in turn is about 60% of my existing family overall, lives there. They grew up there, live and work there, and have chosen to raise a whole new generation of my kin there. From my two older sisters to about 7 cousins that I hung out with in my childhood, with just a few exceptions, no one has left that 'burb, and never will. They shop at Walmart, they don't recycle, they drive SUV's, they get their news from primetime television, and they all vote republican, when they do vote.

Therein lies the chasm that separates me from them. After leaving predictable and convenient South Orange County for college life in Berkeley and then staying north, I'm a changed sheep and am barred from talking about politics at the dinner table when home with the fam.

But, on this last visit, something unexpected happened that gave me a thrill of hope. The afternoon before I left, my sister's kids, Preston and Taylor, accompanied me to the local park in my parents' neighborhood for a few swings and slides on the playground equipment. As we walked past neighbors' houses with Taylor in the lead discussing the plot of Cinderella III: A Twist in Time, and not caring if anyone was listening, 8-year-old Preston randomly started asking me about my experience in Vietnam, following the war, before we (his mother's side of the family) fled as refugees to the US. He asked me if we left Vietnam because our side had lost. I've never been asked about anything as important as war before by a child and I didn't know what to say. Of all the soapbox speeches I've given in my life, they've never been ones geared toward young, impressionable children who aren't prepared to debate any points with me, and who only sincerely want to get my take on things.

So, I was actually thoughtful and measured with my response, a style I don't commonly practice when talking to my family. I told Preston that we probably would've fled Vietnam when we did no matter how the war turned out because it's very hard to live in a country where something like that has taken place. I said that regardless of what side you're on in any war, you're bound to suffer, because death and destruction affects both sides. I didn't realize, but Preston is apparently old enough to know that the U.S. is fighting a war in Iraq right now. He pointed out to me that despite the fact our country is at war, he's not suffering very much. So, I said that he's only spared the kind of suffering I'm talking about because he's not there, in Iraq, to experience this war. I told him that however this one ends, there will be people in Iraq who will wish they could leave and start a new life somewhere that hasn't been bombed into oblivion, and that it's just like our family felt when we had to leave Vietnam 29 years ago.

Preston thought over what I said for about half a block and then asked me, without affect or agenda, "Then, why is there war?"

Pause to recover from the enormity of that question coming from a little boy who's worldview is just now being formed.

"No one knows why there's war, Preston. Grown-ups are always arguing about it, and yet they still can't figure it out. I think it's more important that we know how we feel about war, and if we don't like it, how to avoid it. When you become a grown-up, you might be in a position of leadership and you might get to decide if there's going to be a war or not. But, even if you aren't, you'll be able to choose the people who do decide those kinds of things. And, that's important too when you know what you think about war."

Preston just looked at me thoughtfully and didn't say anything else. I don't know what went through his head right then, but since he didn't turn away from me and start singing any of a number of SpongeBob SquarePants songs I know he's fond of, I can only guess that I was able to shape him a little differently than all the other adults around him are likely to do. I know he has another 10 years in Orange County before he's legal to leave, but maybe there's hope that the fruit, which doesn't fall far from the tree, will nonetheless roll a significant distance in a direction heretofore unexpected.