When history arrives
It took my History 110 professor about three seconds to speak one word.
Take the stereotypes of a boring teacher and shake them around. The muted, unintelligible tone of Charlie Brown’s teacher and the long, multi-paused drawl asking “Bueller….. Bueller…. Bueller?”
That was my guy.
He was tall. Big. Wore ties, walked around the room with his head down, glasses at the tip of his nose. But wherever he was, you could hear that low, monotone, booming voice.
And damn if the guy still wasn’t a compelling teacher.
This was freshman year at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and was my first introduction to the collegiate exercise of studying history. History was no longer facts and dates and people like high school. It was cause and effect. This happens, so then this happens, and that’s why that happened the way it did. Tests were essays written in a blue book. The essays had to fill three-pages and explain the who, what, when, where and why it was important.
I loved it. Maybe it was my government-teaching, history-obsessed sister who helped encourage the fascination, but that class led me down a path of becoming a history major. History of America Before 1877 turned into History of America After 1877, then 19th Century America, then 18th Century America. Then History of Christianity and History of the Holocaust and World War II.
I found the same practice in each. This happens, and that’s why that happened, and that’s why this is the way things are.
On the first day of my World War II class — my favorite class at Nebraska — my professor promised to make us think differently about history as a whole. He began with a 10 minute lecture arguing that the beginning of the Revolutionary War was not some valiant effort by the Colonies rising up against tyranny. It was an ungrateful act for the Colonies to wage war, he said. The British had just saved them from the Seven Years War, saved their land and property from being ravaged. And now, all they wanted was some payment for saving the Colonies’ butt. But the Colonies refused and the Revolutionary War began. (Obviously there’s some more nuance in there. This isn’t some anti-America propaganda newsletter, keep it together.)
But it was a thought experiment that helped shape my world view. Cause, effect, why it was important both happened. And all throughout college and into my early-20s, I spoke and thought about history as a Then, and this was Now. The issues of Now were important, yes, and we needed change and progress as a society. But History had taken care of itself. And Now would be different.
When 9/11 happened, I was in first grade. I remember my dad sitting me down at the kitchen table after work and telling me something bad had happened. I vaguely remember the coming years with the war. It didn’t feel like history, though, as someone locked in elementary school. There’s only so many things you can handle during that time, like having the coolest pencil box and making up play dates and playing Guitar Hero. Such things as War don’t stress out many 2nd graders, at least not in 2002.
In high school, I remember the day Barack Obama was inaugurated. One of the few — maybe the only — black teachers in my high school wore a suit and tie that day, I remember. We watched the inauguration during class. That felt like a moment. An important one.
But this — the new Now — this is the first time I’ve felt like living during history. This social distancing, this spread of the coronavirus, this is what will become the defining moment of my generation. This is what — in 50 years — we’ll tell grandchildren about. About how we wore masks to the grocery store and locked ourselves in our houses. How it slowly spread and we often didn’t know if we had symptoms until it was too late and spread. That we rationed out toilet paper and food.
We ran out of coffee last night in the home, and though a small luxury, I wondered if there’d be any left at the grocery store when we went again. Likely, yes, but even the prevailing thought there might be a shortage be was an unfamiliar one. I thought of that as I drank espresso that’d been put through the coffee maker this morning. (Not bad, actually, if you have to resort to that.)
It feels so very First World to be anxious about having to stay at home. Woe is me, I must stay in this home that provides warmth, houses food and has a television that provides us 1,000s of movies and TV shows to pass the time. Romeo oh Romeo, how shall we ever live?
But its the sense that things may get worse. That we’re in a holding pattern with no expiration date, and we have no idea what the impact will be when it’s all over. The sense that it could be April 20 or May 20 or June 20 and we are still in this pattern of repeating our days confined in this small space, that’s what’s most distressing. Especially when compounded with the idea that much of America’s history has been about expansion and want. The very basis of Manifest Destiny was that God put us on this hunk of land on purpose, it was our God-given right and duty to explore it to its very end. When that was done, we went up to the Moon, and when that was accomplished, we created computers and our own space to occupy and explore.
I’ve wondered what the root of the added anxiety must be during these days, and decided it must be that we’re now confined and unable to expand. We cannot stretch our legs as we once could, or share a drink at a bar, or eat with friends at a restaurant, or go indulge in a sporting event. We’ve chopped up the human experience, pushed aside most of it, and are left with the basics. Which are beautiful in many ways. But we’ve been conditioned to want and crave more than the basics.
Being a sportswriter at this moment in History is an odd experience. I’m in the business of distraction, and in a time when we need it most, the well is not only dry, but the lands around the well haven’t had rain in years. It feels both important and unimportant to find things to write about. Because whatever we write will pale in comparison to what’s important, but could also be the most important three minutes of escape for people that day.
And that’s why it feels like History has caught up. It no longer something that has happened, it is happening. Everything we do in the coming months will be remembered for decades. These days we’re living will one day be dates jotted down in text books.
We’re currently living in the cause of our futures effect. Which may always be true, but feels more True today than ever. And that’s a concept no amount of studying History can truly prepare you for.
What I’ve Been Working On:
What happens when the NCAA Tournament doesn’t come to a town it promised to take over? Pickup basketball reigns.
Best Thing I Read This Week:
Why outbreaks like coronavirus spread exponentially, and how to flatten the curve, by the Washington Post
Writing Music: