The Battle on the Homefront

Yesterday was Memorial Day, and I hope we all took a moment to remember the many people who have died in war. We should never forget that millions of human beings have lost their lives in combat. Let us honor their memory by working toward a world where such violence no longer exists.

On a lighter subject, I wish to discuss briefly a battle being waged here, at my very own house. This is a war of brains and brawn which already has produced many casualties. On one side, we have my control freak roommate whose determination knows no bounds. On the other, an army of highly-trained military ants who have set up base in the cracks in the cement in our garage.

I’m sorry to say that my roommate struck the first blow in this conflict. He noticed the presence of the ant forces in our territory some time last week and declared war immediately. A can of Raid was deployed over the enemy base, destroying targets with deadly precision. My roommate declared himself the victor and went inside to gloat over his total domination; but he underestimated his foe. A few days later, there was a scuttle of activity in the enemy camp. It became abundantly clear that, though wounded, the ants were not yet defeated. Their morale was still high, and they began expanding their operations further into the driveway, toward the house.

My roommate, the clear superpower on our property, was shocked at their resilience and was forced to rethink his strategy. An upgrade in weaponry was acquired: an innocent looking white powder that was in reality one of the most deadly chemical weapons known to ant-kind. My roommate used this new weapon of death without mercy or restraint, and within minutes the battlefield was filled with the fallen troops of the enemy. “I am victorious!” my roommate announced to me, elated. “The enemy has tasted my wrath!” He was in a good mood the rest of the day.

The next day, however, his good mood was shattered by a shocking discovery: the enemy still lived. Over night the ants had been hard at work, clearing the battlefield of their dead and, somehow, freeing the entrances to their bases of the dangerous poison. One had to admire their determination. Had they been up against a lesser foe, perhaps their persistence would have given them victory in the end. But, unfortunately for them, they were facing my roommate, and now he was really ticked. I could sense that a massacre was brewing, and I did what I could to stop it. Throughout the entire conflict, I had acted as a war correspondent, an objective party taking no sides. Now I became mediator, trying to resolve the situation without further bloodshed. I tried to persuade my roommate to consider peaceful options, to open channels of diplomacy, to use economic sanctions. My efforts to maintain peace were disrupted; my roommate ignored my pleas, and I was too lazy to mount an effective protest. I was, it seems, not unlike the UN. In the end, no treaty was signed, and my roommate employed his chemical weaponry with impunity.

This time, the morale of the enemy troops was thoroughly broken. More enemy soldiers died in that battle than in the entire war to that point. Since that day of death, the enemy camp has been silent. There have been a few pockets of resistance, but the once mighty army of the ant people was shattered, their glory days over. My roommate takes no prisoners, shows no mercy, leaves no stone unturned. Every day brings repeated bombings with the chemical. The war is over. Yes, the humans won. Yes, my roommate has made the driveway safe for our children. Yes, my roommate has protected our home from invasion. But at what cost?

Lest we forget…. Lest we forget…