Curtain Fall: Second Edition, Disaster, Preparedness, Survival, Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 1) (15 page)

Abby ended her call with typical teen fanfare, and then turned to John and said, “Sorry, daddy. Thanks for letting me finish.”

Adam sneered, and Abby made a face at him. John said, “Look, I know you two would rather be doing something else, but I’ve got something I need to talk to you about. So please turn your phones over and listen to me for a moment.” John saw that Adam was still engaged on his phone, and he added, “Adam . . . hellooooo.”

“Ready dad,” replied Adam, as he put his phone down on the table, “I heard you the first time.”

John sighed and looked at his kids as he considered how best to open the discussion. He wasn’t sure how direct he should be; if he should discuss the disaster as a potential or absolute change agent, and if he should include his dream as an all or nothing fact.

The timing of the disaster also concerned him. How could he tell his kids that everything they knew about life, about growing up and living,
was about to change in a few short days. One thing was certain, John knew he had to be honest with them, as he had with Jenna. He had to tell them the truth as he knew it.

As a young father, or more to the point, as a father of young children, John made a point to never lie to his kids. That oath was tested from the very beginning with questions like, “Will the shot hurt, daddy?” or “Are there monsters?” John’s opinion was that it was better to be honest, even if it hurt a little, than to break their trust in any way. He knew, from experience, that kids were much smarter and more perceptive than their parents usually gave them credit for.

But when it came to leadership, especially parental leadership, trust was at the top of John’s list. It defined and established mutual loyalty. That personal philosophy served him well as a military leader, and it also influenced his civilian career.

Long ago, John considered branching off into human intelligence, but spying, or even managing spies, was all about making and telling lies - about illusion and deceit. It’s why he went the counterintelligence route, or to catching spies. It required no lies – just investigation and fact.

His hesitation was palpable as the kids continued to study him, waiting for him to say something. John was confident his children trusted him. He felt he remained consistently honest and straightforward with them, that he always told them the truth no matter how difficult it was, but they would soon be stepping into a new level of trust.

For John, it was also a credibility issue. He never created doubt in his children’s minds about his authenticity, about his reliability and ability, but the world had a way of changing the minds of children away from their parents. Kids were more inclined to believe what they saw on TV, or heard in music, than to trust their parents.

John also knew that trust didn’t translate into his visionary experiences. He never talked about his dreams to the kids, and he wasn’t sure how they’d take to such news. When he thought about the dreams, John couldn’t help but wonder if other people had the same experiences.
Better yet, if they had them, did they decide to act upon them? The feeling that he stood alone in the relevance of his dreams was nearly stifling. As he sat facing his children, unsure about how to proceed, he almost cancelled the discussion and sent them on their way, but then he felt the importance of it once again.

John put his fingertips to his forehead and leaned his elbows on the table. How to tell his kids that the mall, school, friendships, their future even, was all about to change, and for the worse?

“Are you okay, dad?” asked Adam.

Adam’s concern snapped John out of his melancholy, and he looked up. He nodded and said, “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks Adam . . . actually, I’m more than okay. I’m blessed to have such an awesome family.”

John decided to begin with a question? While turning to look at both kids individually, he said, “Let me ask you both a question. What would you say if I told you tomorrow . . . a disaster will happen . . . and we could lose everything?”

They answered with surprise, shouting, “What?” and “What do you mean?” nearly simultaneously.

John sat up, and with his hands up, palms facing forward, he tried to calm the kids with a simple gesture. “
Ok,
” he thought, “t
hat didn’t go as planned.
” He realized it was time to try a different approach. “Look, let me explain,” he said, and realized that he no longer heard any noise coming from the kitchen. Without turning around, John figured Jenna was standing in the kitchen, just out of sight beyond the dining room door, listening to him fumble his way through the opening dialogue.

“What I meant to say is that our lives, and everything we have, exists in a delicate balance,” said John.

Adam was about to interrupt and John held up a finger to finish, “Our lives can be changed in a moment, regardless of how much we want things to stay the same. In other words, we don’t always have control over what happens around us,” he paused.

When he saw that he had their full attention, he continued by saying, “A realist believes in common sense. He sees the world for what it is and
pretty much accepts things as they come. On the other hand, an idealist believes he can shape his future and society with his thoughts and actions. Which one am I?”

They both looked confused for a moment, but then John saw that Adam understood the question and said, “You’re a realist, dad.”

“Okay,” said John. “Now an optimist believes in a better future, that we deserve to have a happy ending. A pessimist believes that the future will be filled with hardship, trial and struggle. Again . . . which one am I?”

It was Abby who answered first this time, or maybe it was her brother let who her answer first, John couldn’t say for sure, but he was glad she did. “I think you’re an optimist, daddy,” she said with a smile.

“Good. Now your perceptions of me, and they’re just perceptions, are based on what?” Again a confused look, so John turned to Adam and asked, “How would you describe me?”

“Well, you take things in stride, dad. You have common sense, and you always tell me to use my head, to think things through, and make smart decisions.”

“Fair enough,” said John. “How about you, Abby? Why do you think I’m an optimist?”

“I think you’re an optimist because you always tell us you want what’s best for us, for our future.”

“You’re right. I do say that,” replied John. “I do want the very best for both of you, for all of us, so that means you’re both right . . . but you’re also both wrong.”

They said “What?” and looked at him in confusion.

“I’m not just those two labels . . . I’m all four of them,” said John. “Adam, I agree with you that I’ve got common sense, but I also believe we have a greater purpose in life, that we can make a difference with our choices and actions.

“Abby, I agree with you, I’m an optimist, but I’m also a pessimist. I try to shield you from my pessimism because it’s what a father does for his children. I don’t want you to worry about the future right now. I want you to plan for college, to find a job, to get married and make me a grandpa.”

“All of those things are hard to do if you take them seriously enough. But I’m a pessimist because I know where the world is headed. I know your future is going to be harder than mine because things have, and will, continue to change. The world is not like it used to be, it’s darker and more brutal . . . selfish even. Besides, being a pessimist isn’t a bad thing if it leads you to preparatory action.”

Jenna walked in and sat down next to John. Without looking at him, she reached over and squeezed his hand. John continued without pause, “One more question. What have I done to prepare us for the future?” he asked, and waited for the kids to fully consider it.

“I have a college fund,” replied Adam.

“I do too,” added Abby.

“What else?” John asked.

They were quiet for a moment longer, so John decided to give them a clue by saying, “What will we do if the electricity goes out?”

Adam responded immediately, “We’ll use the generator.”

“Or we’ll use flashlights, and the camping lamps you have in the garage,” added Abby.

“Good,” said John. “That’s right, we do have plans for when the power goes out. Is that being pessimistic, or optimistic?” he asked.

“That’s a trick question,” replied Adam, “because they both fit.”

“You’re right,” said John. “I’m a pessimist for preparing because I think the power might go out, which will make our lives more difficult, and I’m an optimist for doing something about it . . . by taking steps to make our life better if it does go out.”

The kids smiled, and John smiled at them in return. “But that’s not why I asked you to sit here and listen to me,” he added.

But he wanted to add one more layer to the foundation before he brought up the disaster, so he asked, “Do you remember when we worked on Adam’s science project . . . the one about tsunamis?” John was sure Abby would remember because she helped them make tidal waves in their pool to test Adam’s hypotheses.

“And do you remember those video clips I showed you of Thailand, the ones where the people were caught near the beach when the tsunami rushed in?” They both nodded again.

John saw that Abby’s eyes went a little wide, but to her credit she maintained her composure. Jenna squeezed John’s hand firmly, also sensitive to Abby’s sensitivity. He remembered how upset Jenna was at him for exposing Abby to those images.

John argued that he showed Abby the images for the sake of science, but she countered with a reference to their daughter’s tender age, or something to that effect, and recommended that he be more sensitive to her age. John apologized, but didn’t agree. He wasn’t inclined to shelter his kids from the world – within reason.

But this time John wanted, no, he needed his kids to recall the point about the victims, how they were caught completely unaware. How the people visiting the popular Thai beach resorts didn’t know how to read the warning signs of an approaching tsunami.

While on the beach, on the morning of December 4
^th
, 2004, they were impressed with an exceptionally low tide, only to watch in horror as a huge tidal surge washed over them. No alarm had been sounded. Not one word of warning was shouted by anyone, be they local or tourist.

Adam answered, “I remember that, dad. The people didn’t know they were in danger.”

“That’s right. And why didn’t they?” asked John.

“Because no one told them they were in danger.”

“Adam, if I actually thought you believed that . . . I’d be really worried about you. To hold other people responsible for what you should know, or do, is admitting you can’t think and act for yourself. We can’t hold other people responsible for our own ignorance.”

John paused a moment and said, “But I agree with you to a point. Most people do believe someone other than themselves is to blame when they suffer. They play the victim, and refuse to accept responsibility for
their own decisions and actions. It’s clearly a human condition,” said John, with a snort, before he continued.

“In such an example, an idealist might say, ‘That’s tragic. We need better laws and regulations to protect ignorant people. Someone should have told them about the danger.’ And a realist might say, ‘A loss of a few people is terrible, but it happens . . . c’est la vie. Now don’t make my life difficult because of a few ignorant people who can’t recognize danger,’” finished John.

He paused a moment and said, “The truth is, most people lack the necessary awareness of their personal lives to be fully responsible. So . . . what does it mean to have awareness?”

The kids didn’t seem ready to answer, so John answered for them, “Awareness is about knowing what’s happening around you at all times. Awareness is about being awake and alert; being ready to act at a moment’s notice. That’s why I prepared . . . for you.”

He noticed that he was starting to lose their attention, and to keep them engaged he asked, “Knowing what you know right now, what would you do if you were standing on a beach and the tide receded rapidly beyond its normal level?”

“I’d run,” said Abby.

“So would I,” said Adam.

“Yes. You’d run because you’d recognize the danger signs. By seeking safety, you’d be a witness to the destruction, instead of a victim. Your awareness would allow you to act . . . to save yourself and others. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

They both nodded their heads up and down.
“Okay,”
thought John,
“Now’s the time to see if they can handle the news.
” He adjusted his position in the chair and leaned forward to rest his clasped hands on the table. He took a moment to look at them individually and said, “I believe something’s about to happen, and happen soon, that will change everything around us.”

“What do you mean?” replied Adam, with renewed interest in his father’s words. In recent years, John spent time talking with Adam about
some of the threats and vulnerabilities America faced, both natural and man-made. He discussed the disasters that would have the greatest impact on the country, and typically focused his point on developing Adam’s awareness, to heighten his sense of observation about the world around him. John wanted Adam to be alert for signs of impending danger and inevitable change, and to be prepared.

John also wanted Adam to learn to recognize things for what they were, and not for what other people wanted him to believe they were. He wanted his son to investigate issues, concepts, and ideas, and form his own opinion. He wanted Adam to think for himself, to be responsible for his own behavior and actions. But mostly, he wanted his son to be prepared.

He looked at Adam and said, “I believe the Yellowstone Caldera is about to erupt.”

Adam responded with an immediate, “Really? What are we gonna do about it?”

Abby, perhaps unsure about what her father just said, or meant, asked, “Why?”

“I’ll get to your question, Adam, but I want to answer Abby’s first.”

He looked at Abby. “Abby, do you remember when we visited Kilauea on our trip to Hawaii?”

“Yes.”

“That was a big volcano, wasn’t it?”