What a Not so Wonderful World

BY KCY

I see trees of green

Red roses too

I see them bloom

For me and you

And I think to myself

What a wonderful world

-Louis Armstrong

I like to take walks. Long walks. Sometimes I listen to music. Sometimes I walk in silence, listening to my surroundings. The birds chirping, squirrels scampering up trees, cars driving by. My walks inevitably end at the overlook to the Pacific Ocean.

I don’t really like the beach. I hate sand. The way it finds its way into every crevice of your body. The way it has its way of tracking itself into your house. I don’t like salt in the ocean, the way it sticks to your skin. I don’t like the seagulls who come with the ocean breeze. But I sure do love to look at the ocean. To see it stretch before me: limitless. To see where the ocean meets the sky.

Sometimes the waves are rough with white caps. Sometimes the waves are gentle. Sometimes there are no waves really and the ocean is almost flat. Any which way the ocean comes, it has always been a source of calm to me.

That calm remains with me on my walk back home. Flowers are brighter. Grass is greener. Bumblebees buzz louder. I feel my surroundings. I wonder at the beauty of them.

Today, on my way back home, helicopters above me drowned the bumblebees, quieted the birds, scared the squirrels.

Today, my walk was not so wonderful. The world was not so wonderful.

I plugged my earphones into my smartphone, placed them in my ears and turned my music on as loud as possible to drown the intruding noises above. As I was adjusting the volume, my backdrop picture caught my eye.

I’ve had it forever. A picture of a three-year-old me and my dad sharing a moment after one of his long-distance races. He is carrying me. His eyes are crinkled up. He’s grinning at me as usual while I suck my thumb.

It’s my favorite picture of us. I don’t remember it (I was three!), but when I look at it, I like to imagine the private conversation my dad and I were having. Inevitably, I always arrive at the same conclusion.

He was telling me his hopes and dreams for me. What he wanted me to be, how he wanted me to be, what he thought I deserved in life, what my life should be like. He was telling me I was lucky to be growing up in this world in America where I could be anything I wanted to be, do anything I wanted to do. Where there was opportunity. Where there was democracy, equality.

He was telling me how I should treat others. That I should help others. Especially people who were less fortunate than we were.

And he was telling me what a wonderful life this was. What a wonderful world this was. My dad loved to use the word “wonderful.”

He died almost eight years ago. I can’t help but feel relieved that he’s not around anymore. He’s not around to see this pandemic. He’s not around to see the violence. He’s not around to hear the helicopters above us.

He’d be ashamed that today the world is not so wonderful. He’d tell us we would need to do better, to be better.

I hope my walk tomorrow is not like my walk today.