Never under any circumstances take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night. —Dave Barry
When we sleep through historic events, what we are missing is the chance to tell a story
Won for the ages: After years of waiting and suffering, Cubs are in World Series declared the banner headline on this morning’s Chicago Tribune. The excitement is palpable across social media. It’s been 75 years since the baseball’s Chicago Cubs played in a World Series, even longer since they actually won one. There was yelling, screaming, and excitement all over the place.
I slept right through it.
This isn’t the first time I’ve slept through history. I missed the first Apple commercial in 1984. I missed Bill Clinton’s appearance on the Arsenio Hall show in 1992. The Supreme Court decision that decided the 2000 election? Yep, I was asleep when that came down. Slept right through Saddam Hussein’s capture in 2003 as well. Sleeping through history is something I’ve become quite good at doing, and I’m reasonably sure that I’m not the only one who does so. I know because Kat was sleeping right next to me when the Cubs won last night.
On some level, sleeping through historic events is common. After all, we have to sleep. We can’t always anticipate that something historic is going to happen. The Cubs have been letting us down and choking on the big game for 75 years. What reason was there to think that last night would be any different?
At the same time, though,sleeping through events of global importance deprives us of one of the most exciting experiences in the human condition: telling a story.
Culling Through History
A fair portion of the time, we have good reason to sleep through what is being called a historic event. When something is actually happening, we don’t always know if it is something that history is going to bother remembering. For example, when we think of school shootings the one that continues to be the most important, historically, is Columbine. Why? The country was shaken to its core. We, collectively, had never imagined that such a thing was even possible. However, there has been 31 school shooting since Columbine. Each, in their own way, could claim some historical significance, but history itself doesn’t remember them because they became too commonplace.
Historic events are sometimes obvious. The assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and John Lennon, for example. The Challenger explosion would be another. Certainly, the events of 9/11 fall into that category. Something so massive, so startling, is immediately etched in our brains the moment they happen we know they’re important.
Others, however, sneak up on us when we’re not paying attention. As Hurricane Katrina approached the Gulf Coast, forecasters attempted to warn residents, and the government, that this storm was stronger than anything we’d seen before. Too many people didn’t listen. Governors didn’t listen and force evacuations that could have saved lives. The federal government didn’t listen and as a result, aid was slow in arriving. Citizens of affected areas didn’t listen to the warnings, tried riding out a storm that couldn’t be ridden. Because we weren’t expecting the hurricane to be historic, the nation tried sleeping through it and was knocked right out of our comfortable beds.
Perhaps we can be forgiven for sleeping through some historic events. Our lives are full trying to handle every-day events. We are too tired to handle the big stuff. When we sleep through moments of great significance, though, we miss out on more than we expect.
Living To Tell The Tale
I remember talking with my father about the events of December 7, 1941. He was still a child on that fateful morning, but he still remembered quite clearly the response of those around him: everyone was scared. The men were torn. They shared a farm and if they all joined the military, which they were inclined to do, then who would handle the 500 acres that provided the only source of income for five families? Those with older children were concerned about sending them off to fight an unfamiliar enemy. Since news moved much slower during that era, anxiety ran high as the future of the nation seemed uncertain.
Being alive when a historic event takes place doesn’t always change our own lives directly. We don’t always see things then as they turn out. I remember the Watergate Scandal, for example. The only way in which it directly affected my life was that the televised hearings preempted my afternoon cartoon shows. I was less upset that the President of the United States had committed a crime and more pissed off that I was missing Popeye the Sailor and Roadrunner. I remember watching Hank Aaron break Babe Ruth’s homerun record. While it was exciting, there was also a sense of relief. Network news programs had regularly interrupted whatever was showing every time Aaron came up to bat for what seemed like a month (it was only a few days) before he hit that ball. We were glad the constant interruptions were over.
Regardless of our perspective on an event, however, we still come away with a story that is worth telling. If anything, it is the wide-ranging differences of our perspectives that making listening to those stories so great. We can get the historical facts of an event from any history book or a quick bit of research on the Internet. To truly understand the emotion of an event, though, we need to listen to the stories of the people who witnessed those events. Without those stories, our understanding of history is rather empty and void of context.
Our Own Historical Record
One of my favorite radio programs is the Moth Radio Hour. Â The Moth isn’t a news program and it’s not really a matter of commentary, either. The Moth is people telling stories, real stories, not fiction, in front of a live audience. These stories relate to us things that happened around historic events in people’s lives. While the event itself might not have made the news, it was important to the history of the person telling the story. So, an astronaut explains what it feels like to be in space for the first time. Another story is a woman telling about her search for her signature scent. A military veteran relates the rigors of Honor Guard training.
All the stories we tell are important to history because it is our stories, the explanations of how we felt, what we saw, how we were affected, that gives context and meaning to the cold, dry facts of history. If the generations that come after us are to learn any lessons from the history that has come before them, they need more than history books. They need our stories, yours and mine, to give them a sense of why an event was so very important and why they need to pay attention and learn.
What happens when we do not tell those stories? Our history is empty. We know events occurred, but we fail to understand them. We know the fight for civil rights was challenging, but we don’t understand that battle until we listen to the stories of people like John Lewis, who was there next to Dr. King, who was arrested and beaten, who was sprayed with the fire hoses. We know the dustbowl era affected migration to California, but to hear my Uncle Fred tell about his decision to pack up and move injects the sorrow and pain of that momentous event make the experience real.
We need these stories.
Sharing Our Own History
When it’s all said and done, the fact that I slept right through last night’s game is probably not significant to the global understanding of history. Baseball and I aren’t that close. Other events, though, require that I stay awake. The evening of November 8 would be a good example. No matter how one slices it, this election has important historical significance. We need to be awake not just because we need to know the outcome. We need to be paying attention because there will come a day when our stories will be an important part of the historical narrative of our country.
Sharing our stories, whether through the centuries-honored oral tradition or through creating a video for social media, is an important part of history. We need more than dates and numbers and names. Those who come behind us need to know why we vote the way we do, how our lives are affected, and how we adjust our plans based on the outcome. History is not something we watch happen. History is something we experience, even if it is passive.
We need to stay awake. Our stories are important. Make sure you tell yours.
You  have to get up first in the morning.
If someone would snuggle more you wouldn’t need the covers.
Without the covers, your cold feet go onto your lover’s back.
Covers keep you from becoming ill.
You snore louder when you’re cold.
You’re grumpy when you don’t get enough sleep.
There are other blankets in the closet, damn it.
No one’s getting sex as long as you are cold.
Sleeping Through Sunday
I have never taken any exercise, except sleeping and resting, and I never intend to take any.—Mark Twain
None of us are sleeping as much as we should. Going back to bed may be the healthiest thing you do
I would dearly love to be sleeping right now, truly I would. Unfortunately, my body has conditioned itself to wake up at this ungodly hour, while everyone else is still sleeping, so that I can actually get some work done before the world starts getting noisy. As a result, to sleep even past 6:00 AM is a luxury rarely afforded these days. I’m not the only one, though. For the past four years, doctors have been warning that we’re not sleeping enough. Cases of insomnia are on the rise. Sure, there are sleeping pills that help some, but those also bring the chance of abuse and, in some cases, addiction. The problem isn’t just limited to the US, either. The whole world is having trouble sleeping.
What causes us to have so much trouble falling asleep and staying that way? There are a number of issues, of course, but the three most common to our contemporary first-world lifestyles are:
That third one, of course, is new, and largely limited to people in industrialized nations. In places where 24-hour wifi isn’t quite so prevalent, concerns over personal/family safety take the third spot, which is certainly understandable. In the US, especially, we have a problem putting down our phones even to sleep. Whether it’s playing some silly game, browsing the latest cat memes, or actually reading something worthwhile, we rarely turn off our phones. Making matters worse, recent studies indicate that the light emitted by our phones is bright enough that our brains mistake it for daylight so that the little trigger telling us to go to sleep gets turned off.
Such insomnia is not totally new. Throughout the twentieth century, there were plenty of things keeping our parents and grandparents awake at night. In the early part of that century, we feared becoming involved in a European war, so much so that we were almost too late to help, Then came the Great Depression and I’m not sure anyone slept much. Homelessness, poverty, unemployment, and hunger all have a way of keeping a person up at night. Then, from 1936 on, the threat of a second European war became a worry and those who remembered the first one were especially sleepless. The 1940s were a decade of war and no one sleeps well through that. Troops were back home for most of the 1950s, but the Cold War set in hard and the Red Scare had Americans wondering whether their neighbors and co-workers might be communists. Air raid drills were common in schools, making sure children didn’t sleep well, either.
By the 1960s, parents worried about war in Southeast Asia, violence around the growing Civil Rights movement, and an exploding drug problem. 1972 crushed our faith in government. 1974 introduced us to the worries of inflation. By 1979, we looked at the Middle East as our newest enemy and worried how to keep them in check. Fear of nuclear annihilation reached its peak in the 80s and we responded to any and every threat by attempting to outlaw it, sending more people to jail than the prison system could handle, most for non-violent offenses. By the 90s economics were again a major fear and this thing called the Internet threatened to change the very fabric of our society.
Society is too complex for us to not find things to worry about. My current personal list of immediate concerns is about 20 items deep, and that’s with me trying to be positive. I refuse to be pollyannish and say everything’s going to be alright. The fact that we’re not sleeping like we should is itself a warning that no, everything may yet go to hell in a handbasket.
So, why are we not sleeping through Sundays, every Sunday? I challenged my father on the topic more than once. If one is going to actually believe Old Testament mythology regarding creation, then one has to deal with the notion that, after six days of work, God rested. Throughout the Old Testament, he seemed rather adamant about that whole resting thing and to this day devout Jews struggle with the juxtaposition of secular demands to do things and their religious commandment to not do things on the Sabbath. Spending all day at church seems to me, still, as just as much a violation of that command as if one were working. One does not rest at church, at least, you’re not supposed to actually sleep through the whole thing. My father was never amused, nor moved, by that argument, though.
To me, it just makes good sense. Our bodies, and our minds, need a break. We fill our lives with so very much the other six days, we need a respite to allow our bodies to catch up, re-energize, and recuperate. We need scheduled time to laugh, to read fiction, to have pleasant conversations, to enjoy non-stressed company of friends who don’t care if the house is clean, to ponder, to appreciate. More than anything, we need to be sleeping.
Go back to bed. Chores can wait. Ducktape kids to the wall if necessary. You should be sleeping. Get to it.
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