The idea of nuclear catasrophe has haunted my subconscious since I was five or so, probably some kind of a relic from my mother’s fervent no-nukes protesting in the early 1980s. So when I finally stumbled upon the old educational film, Duck and Cover, I figured it was time to watch. You should too! I mean, who knew that a simple newspaper could be so effective in saving your face from radioactive burns? Well, Mr. Smith did, as he ducked and covered at the park after he saw the flash of the atomic bomb. Face in the grass, he tented the newspaper over his head. Instant safety!

Seemingly futile advice aside, I wonder how my parents escaped the kind of neurosis that I’ve somehow developed over bombs and war and explosions of all types. They were bombarded in elementary school with films like Duck and Cover; I was just pushed through anti-nuclear energy assemblies in my stroller. They were told to climb under their desks when they saw the flash of light; I huddled under my comforter in bed when loud planes flew over my suburban town.

Genetic osmosis, maybe?