Déjà vu all over again

I sat in the living room a few days ago thinking it was déjà vu all over again. Back then the year was 1986, and that night it rained fire over Libya. Last weekend, it rained fire over Iran. As I sat on the couch reflecting on my family's lives over the years, I thought of all the changes in those lives since that first firestorm. All of us (Diane, Jeremy, Andrew and myself) have moved to several new cities that we called "home," new jobs, new churches and new sets of friends. Heck, since that first firestorm we have raised our sons, watched them in their sports pursuits, celebrated their high school and college graduations. We couldn't be happier with the young women they chose as their wives and we rejoiced when four granddaughters arrived in our lives. Back then it was April 19, 1986, when the first firestorm struck Libya as U.S. officials were targeting terrorist groups operating out of the country. After a U.S. soldier was killed, and 200 people injured, in a discotheque attack in West Berlin April 5, the decision was made to attack Libya, where the terrorists came from. That night over 50 U.S. planes were involved in the attack. Meanwhile, in Barton, Ohio, our family celebrated our oldest son's third birthday that day. Later that evening after grandparents left and Diane and I learned of the attack, I went to tuck Jeremy into bed, and then I sat down at my computer and penned out a column. The opening paragraph to it read: "Three candles burned brightly on a little boy's birthday cake last week. Meanwhile it rained fire in Tripoli." That column went on to win first place in column writing that year in Ohio, and was read on the Senate floor of the Ohio Legislature. While hundreds of columns have been written by me since that day, it still remains one of my favorite pieces. But I digress. Let's talk about deja-vu. Fast forward to last Saturday, where Diane and I were glued to the television and constantly scrolling the newspaper feeds on our phones about the U.S. involvement in Iran. I was stunned, shocked and uncertain about what tomorrow would bring. In truth I was experiencing many of the same feelings I felt back in 1986. I found myself wishing that little boy was back again to help, for me at least, calm the storms of life. "It's getting late and my son cuddles next to me on my lap. There is a cherub smile, a glow on his face. I think of the mothers and fathers of the American servicemen and what they must be feeling… "I also think of the Libyan people clutching their children as the sonic booms and squealing jets flash across the skies." Leading up to last Saturday was the nightly exchange of missiles and bombs between Israel and Iran. Had it been a week or so later in the U.S., it would look like Fourth of July fireworks. But these fireworks were weapons of war and instead of greeting each burst with awe and excitement, people in the Middle East were running for cover and seeking safety in the nearest bomb shelter as a new missle exploded overhead. And I thought yes, even across Israel, it was raining fire as well. "Inwardly I pray that this little boy lying beside me may never know the fear of war, that somehow his generation will be spared the consequences of a world gone haywire. As we turn out the lights the first splatters of a spring rain strike the window pane outside. Meanwhile, it rained fire in Tripoli. And Iran. And Israel. Not much has changed in 39 years. Bill Speer was the publisher of The Alpena (Mich.) News. He can be reached at speers@chartermi.net.