Perspective: The children of Nagasaki were singing

Last month, I was in Nagasaki, Japan, site of the second atomic bombing of August, 1945. In my feeble and fumbling way, I hoped to achieve some measures of empathy and contrition for the unspeakable suffering.
 
The museum there was well appointed. But I found myself feeling hollow and numb. Somehow I could not relate to any of it.
 
I stumbled out the door and into the adjoining peace garden. Meticulously groomed, it was filled with statuary and monuments from throughout the world.
 
I trudged through the grounds. The sculptures were cold. Cold beyond cold, I thought, in ways that only bronze and granite can possibly know. I was just like them. I was devoid of feeling.
 
Suddenly -- singing. Were my ears deceiving me?
 
Singing it was. In the distance, the voices of a children’s choir were taking flight. The children of Nagasaki were singing!
 
It was then I realized that my quest did not run through the museum. My pilgrimage was not to the garden. Redemption was to be had through children.
 
Sometimes terror and hope can be bound up as one. The children of Nagasaki taught me that.
 
So perhaps it will be children who help us back away from the precipice. Perhaps it will be children who guide us from the abyss.
 
The children. We dare not betray the children.
 
I’m Scott Summers, and that is my perspective.
 
Please note: versions of this commentary previously appeared (1) in my blog, SummersTimes (www.ScottSummers.org) and (2) as a letter in the editor in the Sunday, December 14th editions of the Chicago Sun-Times.