On nostalgia and panic attacks…

When I was younger, and an elf, apparently.

So I’m sitting here at my desk, minding my own business and thinking it is about time to heat up my lunch when I hear a sound that immediately takes me back to being a kid…a kid during the Cold War.

Clemson is right up the road from the Oconee Nuclear Station. On certain Wednesdays, they test the emergency siren, and that happened again this morning. The emergency siren is an unmistakable sound, and you can hear it for miles and miles. It’s also a reminder to me of how my life is different because I was born well before the end of the Cold War.

Hubs and I have been talking more and more about this, possibly spurred on by our viewing of an 18 hour documentary on Vietnam. Our perceptions and remembrances of historical events and people are going to be different because he is British and I am American, but I contend that some of my reactions to things are different because I grew up American during the Cold War. The images we were exposed to of “the enemy,” the Communists, were different than those shown to people in other parts of the world.

So I watch as the Clemson students continue their day as though nothing is happening when that siren sounds…and I fight the urge to panic or hide under my desk for a few moments until I remember that the Cold War is over and Duck and Cover drills are no more…for now, at least.