I've tried not to engage in much discussion about the tragedy in Boston because I simply feel I don't have the words. I'm weary of the dialogue, frankly.
I went through this the very first time 17 years ago when I was in Atlanta with a church group at the Olympics when a bomb went off just a few blocks away. I was terrified and, at 14 years old, had no clue what was happening. Time passed and the memories faded.
And then, three years later, a group of misunderstood, bullied teens went rampage on their high school in Columbine, CO, slaying their classmates and then ending their own lives. We held vigil at my little country school, the principle sounding weary and worn as he announced that no more rifles in the gun racks in the back of your trucks...drop 'em off at home if you were early morning hunting and then going to school. We held drills, looked at one another, confused, in anti-bullying assemblies (in a school with little to no bullying...we were all of relatively the same socio-economic status, very small school, very close-knit), and began peering out at this world with a hint of fear.
Just a scant year and a half later, some crazy jihadist blew a hole the size of a building in the side of one of our "impenetrable" Navy ships. I had just gotten back from visiting New York City with my parents and eating hoagies in the shadow of the twin towers of the World Trade Center, where we took pictures and craned our necks back as far as we could to squint against the sun at her height.
And then that was gone, and with it, the lives of thousands of innocent Americans.
It's a systematic process of being broken, but being performed on an entire nation. After you punch someone in the gut over and over, eventually they give up.
I can't do the same old dialogue, frankly. I, like many of my peers, joined the military after this late-adolescent period of fear and intimidation, to try to make a difference. To do the right thing. To make the world a better place, somehow. To stop the bad guys from hurting us. Now all we have is a generation of bitter, jaded, broken (sometimes physically) men and women who are sick of it all. We sacrificed so much, some much, much more than others, and what difference did it make?
***Wow, I was in the middle of writing this when I got an email alert from the kids' school that there was a shooter in the district and they were on lock-down. I grabbed John up and drove like a maniac to their school (which was not the school in question, thank goodness). When I drove up, vans, SUVs, and sedans were parked all over the driveway, some askew, some still running, as wild-haired moms in sweats dashed up to the front door. Not just moms...a BMW screeched up and a suited man who looked like a banker jumped from the car before it was fully in park. Concern for kids transcends all social classes. A resource officer, a psychologist, sent from the school district was rushing from the parking lot towards us, half-jogging, briefcase under his arm and ID card on a lanyard around his neck, hurrying to comfort the panicking parents milling about the front door. The school secretary, principle, and school nurse, all of whom were anxiously manning the front desk, knew nothing except that it wasn't at their school.
To their credit, the York PD and Clover School District handled this with astounding speed, proficiency, and professionalism, curbing any potential danger and apprehending the shooter before any damage was done. The implementation of the "shooter" plan was flawless, as far as I could tell. Resource officers being sent to all schools, both to calm parents and staff and assist in dealing with the children, is a very cool part of the plan.
However, the fact remains that THERE WAS A FRIGGIN SHOOTER IN MY CHILDREN'S SCHOOL DISTRICT.
To be honest, it's looking more and more attractive to get a piece of land up in the mountains, home school the kids, and get away from this society of threats, shooting, violence, and fear.
To any who have any advice, comment, email, etc.
~m
Having grown up in England during the IRA terrorism, one just kept living. We refused to be afraid. But through negotiations and airing of grievances, the terrorism ended. What I cannot wrap my head around is the gun culture in America. There is no negotiating with a mad person whose grievances are only in his head who chooses to gun down children at a school or in a movie theater. You can pull your children out of school and home school them, but how about when they go to a mall, or to fast food restaurant? We are sitting ducks.
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