Early summer in Santa Cruz. Sandwiches and s’mores on the beach with family and friends. A chilly breeze off the ocean. And a kite.

We’re fighting a war most of us don’t understand in which more than 4,000 mostly young American men and women have died and countless more young Iraqis. We live in fear of terrorists, our economy at times seems precariously on the edge of collapse, we sue each other over the smallest perceived slights.

It’s good sometimes to go to the beach and watch a little boy fly a kite.