I was still in bed last Saturday when my wife, Maggie, alerted me to the missile warning that terrified Hawaii for 38 minutes.

“We should take cover,” she said. I pulled the blanket over my head.

We discussed what a shame it would be if we got blown to smithereens before we could celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary, which was only a week away.

But strangely, I was mostly unconcerned as my mind analyzed scenarios.

It would be crazy stupid for North Koreans to fire a missile at us, which would assure their future as a hole in the peninsula.

Even if they were suicidal, their relatively primitive missile technology would probably give them less than a 50-50 chance of hitting us.

Then there was my skepticism about information from the state, which has been known to get punked by hackers or just royally screw up — as ultimately was the case.

My smartwatch monitors my heartbeat, and I later checked the history to see what the ticker was doing from the first warning to the all-clear; it kept to a slow, steady beat throughout, with no spikes of anxiety.

The tachycardia didn’t come until I started fuming about the terror this unthinkable mistake had brought upon my grandchildren.

Two huddled with their parents in a hallway, which had the strongest supports. One was at her dad’s apartment, seeking safety in the bathroom. The last was alone in his room, scanning social media for updates.

During the Cuban missile crisis, I was in my early teens, like my two youngest, and I remember the extreme fright.

But never was I told there was a nuclear missile bearing down on me at that moment and my life could be over within minutes.

I felt heartsick and furious that the grandkids had to experience horrors I’d hoped were behind us.

All because our state government, arguably the nation’s most inept, rushed to be first with a nuclear warning system, having no template to guide them. What could go wrong?

Quick calls to fire the guy who clicked the mouse missed the point.

We need to think bigger and fire the so-called leaders who preside over the culture of low standards, complacency, turf warfare and butt-covering that seems to cause nearly everything our local government touches — big or small — to go awry.

While I don’t hold my breath waiting for the executive and legislative reformation needed on both sides of Punchbowl Street, I’m comforted that the kids are resilient and life does go on.

My youngest granddaughter went straight from the missile scare to a jiujitsu tournament and won her division, while the next youngest returned to school and won a Shakespeare competition.

Maybe their generation can fix the shameful mess we’re leaving them.

Reach David Shapiro at volcanicash@gmail.com.