Remembering

When most people sat down to dinner, on November 10th, young cadets stood guard at the London Cenotaph. Hours later, the silent sentinels were still there.

Nearby, in the shadows of Victoria Park, stood a lone man with a camera strapped around his neck. He explained that his son was one of the cadets, on shift, standing guard all night long.

"He hates the cold," the father said of his son. "And he doesn't quite understand why he volunteered to do Remembrance duty. But he knows he had family in the War, in Holland."

I went home after that. But not for long. I pulled together some equipment and drove back downtown. It was past midnight. Another round of cadets now stood guard in the bitter cold.

The view through the camera lens humbled me. Until slurring words interrupted my thought process. I looked up to find a young man brush by me.

"Ya know what the travesty is?" he said, his index finger weaving to puncture the air in the direction of the young cadets. "Sending these guys to Afghanistan."

I shook my head as Genius waltzed off, unsteady in his gait.

What do you say to the man who thinks he knows everything?