Maybe you have heard the phrase “revisionist history.” We’re not talking extreme, off-the-wall revisionism, like someone claiming the heinous Holocaust didn’t happen. We’re just talking about retelling the narrative to make someone or something look better or worse than perhaps they did in real life.

Why worry about such a thing when there are so many immediate concerns, like the pandemic? Because those who don’t know what really happened are destined to repeat mistakes that might be averted.

A short, routine conversation with my grandson, Graham, 11, brought this to the forefront. Waiting to drop him off at school one morning, I asked what his “special” would be today. A “special” is a class they have for a week, in a five- or six-week rotation with other specials such as art, music and gym. That week’s special was world culture.

I thought I would be cute. “What is another name for Great Britain?” I asked.

“What?” he said quizzically. “I don’t know.”

“It’s England. Haven’t they taught you that?”

“No, and that’s not what world culture is. We’re learning about Cuba.”

“Cuba?” I said. “Why?”

“We’re learning about the Cuban Missile Crisis,” Graham said. “It’s more like history class.”

My dim light bulb went off. First bad sign: History is relegated to a “special” in fifth grade.

“I bet President Kennedy is the hero, right?” I asked.

“Sure, he saved us from World War III,” Graham said.

“Did they mention somebody named Khrushchev?” I asked.

“Who is that?”

“How about the Bay of Pigs?” I asked.

“What is that?”

“It’s what led up to the missile crisis. It was an action President Kennedy took that didn’t turn out so well.”

“Oh, never heard of it,” he said.

Why it matters

I have nothing against President John Kennedy. But if you’re going to tell the story, tell the whole story, in context — the good, bad and ugly. Include the part that created the tension in the first place.

I lived through it, and although Mom and Dad played it down, I knew from news reports on our black-and-white Philco that people were worried. There was lots of talk about bomb shelters and where to go in case of nuclear attack. And worst of all — remember, I was maybe 10 — we couldn’t make snow ice cream anymore.

That caught Graham’s attention. “What’s snow ice cream?” he asked.

“We would gather up snow and your great-grandma would add sugar, and we would eat it like ice cream. Then people said it had radioactive fallout from missile tests, so she wouldn’t let us eat it.”

So, shame on scholars and historians who slant or sugarcoat the history books that today’s children read. The age of innocence ended long ago, if it ever existed. After all, Graham’s great-grandpa, my dad, Robert, was part of the Greatest Generation. He was a Pearl Harbor survivor, and in later years, after the hurt wore off, he told plenty of stories about real enemies and the struggle for survival.

My dad lived to see Graham, but Graham doesn’t remember, because he was a baby. So, it’s left to me to make sure he knows what his great-grandpa endured because he loved this country. I’ll be happy to do it. I hope you will, too. Don’t leave it to the historians. Their version will be different.

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