Right before my son got on the plane for his first deployment to Afghanistan at the beginning of May, he called me for one last quick conversation. I asked him if he had any concerns or regrets he wanted to talk about, and he, knowing full well I meant concerns about his deployment or regrets about joining the Army to begin with, said “Well, yes, I have one huge regret.” (long pause) “I deeply regret that I’ve been watching Lost for six damned years and will now miss the last few episodes.”
I recognized this remark as the brand of smart-assed black humor used as a coping mechanism in gravely serious situations that he learned at his parents’ knees, so being the last person who could complain about his use of it, I instead laughed dutifully, though I hardly felt like laughing. On the other hand, I realized there was a part of him that really meant it. The loss of Lost is a big deal to him, representative as it is of losing touch with the version of civilization that has been familiar to him his whole life and so much of that revolves around instant connectivity and constant communication with friends, loved ones, and the world in general.
