I had a challenging morning. The Raging Grannies on Salt Spring Island, far from raging, were making bamboo and tissue paper lanterns in Peace Park for a Hiroshima observance tonight. I was joining them in their creative efforts.

Along came two drugged up young guys, one of them hyper and rude. My American response was not called for; I was neither the youngest of the women (the teacher was) nor the one in charge (again, that would be the teacher, or the Grannies who had asked for her to teach them). So I watched in discomfort as these men seemingly ran roughshod over the workshop. The women, though, handled it all like some kind of martial arts demonstration, meeting it without any resistance. My American buttons went off as the young men used rough language to, and were mocking of, women who were my elders, while no one did anything about it. It was all over in about 40 minutes.

I was the only one the worse for wear. I’m more American than I think I am.

Later, the teacher wondered whether we’d mind if these same lanterns were left to hang in the trees, untended. My American mind was the only mind which minded. We had, however, discussed the forgiveness of the people of Hiroshima….should we be in position to need to forgive possible vandalism, would that be so bad?

I can live with that risk. It even makes sense, in a poetic kind of way.