Friday morning, I was sitting in the gym at Pete's PDO, waiting for their Christmas play to start. My dad was next to me, checking a ding on his phone when he told me that there had been another school shooting. My heart broke, but it wasn't in the forefront of my mind. As sad as it was, I was sure that it was another bullied or disturbed student taking it out on his classmates. I put the thought of it to the back of my mind, sat back and enjoyed enjoyed watching my little goofball hop across the stage and moo as a dove. (Yeah, my son is a ham. It's one of the reasons I love him.)
I didn't find out even the main details until several hours later, after doing some Christmas shopping, enjoying lunch with my dad and having a nice chat with him. It was then that I sat down at the computer and the full force of what had happened hit me. It wasn't high schoolers or even middle schoolers but a shooting in an elementary school. The number of dead was staggering. The fact that 2/3rd of them were children hit even more.
I wanted to drive to Teddy's school and bring him home. I wanted to hold him and never let him out of my sight again. Because these children - every single one of them - were first graders. They were all the same age as my oldest child, the one that left me for 8 hours every day, who I need to trust in others to keep safe. Visions of him lying dead in his classroom refused to leave my eyes. And if I had my van, instead of lending it to my father, I would have driven there to get him, sprained foot or not. Because I needed my son. But I also knew that it was my fear instinct kicking in and that he would be safe in his school.
Over the weekend, I hugged him more than I think he's ever been hugged in a 62 hour period. I'd told him what had happened when he got home from school on Friday, so he knew why the hugs were happening and hugged me back. He's a pretty good kid when it comes to that. I half-joked with him that I would never let him go to school again because I wanted him home with me all the time. He told me that he needed to go because he wanted to learn more than I could teach him. And while that small part of me wanted to keep him here always, there was the other part of me that knew that, if he couldn't be with me, his school was the safest and best place he could be.
I've cried a lot over the last several days, and I still am. I let things affect me too deeply sometimes. After September 11, 2001, I had the hardest time walking to work, passing all the signs of the missing. For awhile, I was forbidden from picking up the paper by my boyfriend because it made me sob. I couldn't help it, though. I felt like I needed to read these stories to honor those whose lives were lost. And it's the same thing now. I don't want to look at pictures of these kids, kids at the same point in their lives as Teddy and his friends. But I feel like I have to. That looking away is dishonoring them in some way. So I read the stories and I look at the pictures and I sob and, once again, want to grab Teddy and never let him out of my sight. And I alternately wish I didn't feel so deeply and am glad that I do.
The debate about whether firearms should be banned brings thoughts of the tragedy at Stamford, CT at the beginning of Marvel's Civil War storyline. In it, there are a team of supers that are part of a reality show. While they are chasing down some supervillains, one of the villains, Nitro, lets off a huge nuclear explosion that leaves 600 dead, including 60 children (since the fight happened outside a school). It was used as a huge push to register supers, requiring them to take off their masks and either work for the government or hang up their spandex. Tony Stark, struck very deeply by the deaths, fights for registration. Captain America believes that the registration act is wrong and fights against it. And the supers of the USA break into a Civil War because of it. The similarities between this fictional story line and what happened at Sandy Hook cause me to shudder. Not just the extreme loss of life, but the push by some to make a change in what they see as the problem - guns. How deeply this seems to be affecting most of the nation. And my thoughts continue to run in the same way - regulating supers, or banishing guns, won't help eradicate the problem. Because it's not the law-abiding people that are the problem, but the ones that don't care for the laws anyway. I'd rather see a change in the way people view those with mental health problems and the ease with which people should be able to get help. But that will be as much of a fight, I'm afraid, as those wanting to get rid of guns all together.
Nothing is going to be able to bring these children, these teachers, back to us. And, sadly, nothing is going to prevent something like this from ever happening again. But that doesn't mean that I'm going to put this in my rear-view mirror and pretend it hasn't affected me. Honestly, I don't know anyone that it hasn't affected. And I wish I could do more for these families than say, "I am so sorry. You and yours are in my thoughts." I wish I could do more for the world beyond have my thoughts and opinions. I wish I could do more to balance keeping my child safe and letting him live a full life. I wish I was all powerful.
But I'm not, and I can't. All I can do is remember and honor. And hug my boys tight one more time.
And a lot less fun than the other options.
Showing posts with label in the news. Show all posts
Showing posts with label in the news. Show all posts
18 December 2012
29 February 2012
The Sky is Shades of Gray Now that a Daydream Believer Has Left Us
In 1986, a group from my mother's teen years was having a reunion tour and coming back into national prominence. When they first came back on the music scene, I didn't care much one way or the other. It was old music from an old group.
Then I went to visit my father in Florida over the summer. And I came across their television show one night on Nickelodeon (I think I was looking for You Can't Do That on Television.) Regardless of what I was actually looking for, I got sucked into the show. It was musical, it was funny and I wanted to watch every single episode of The Monkees. I had officially become a Monkee-maniac.
I taped every episode I could that summer. When I went back to New York, I wanted to be able to watch it over and over again. I bought several of their albums (actual record albums) and a few of their tapes. My favorite was their previously unreleased stuff on Missing Links. I wore that cassette tape out listening to it over and over again. (And now, I need to go buy it on digital.) Back then, I knew everything there was to know about the Monkees and then some. I could quote stats about their albums, about each of the members, who were the players and who were the actors. I devoured everything I could about them.
I had posters on my wall with the four of them smiling down at me. I had a thing for Peter Tork, but all of them were awesome. And Davy Jones... he had the voice of an angel (and the accent to match). I wanted to go to see on e of their concerts, but it never happened. I used to make up daydreams to help me fall asleep, putting myself in as Davy's sister and getting up to hijinks with the band (I was a weird kid, what can I say?) For several years in my teens, The Monkees were at the top of my list of people I most wanted to meet.
As I got older, the obsession passed, but I still loved their show and their music. Whenever I heard one of them was going to be on a show, I made sure to watch it (in particular, I remember watching My Two Dads and Boy Meets World - shows I don't think I'd watched before or since). I got a smile any time I'd hear one of their songs on the radio. Whenever I'd meet another fan, I'd sit down to debate which episodes were better and which songs were our favorites (for me? "The Devil and Peter Tork" and "Shades of Gray" - see below). They may not have been at the top of my list any longer, but they were still there and still had a special place in my heart.
Earlier today, my friend Carmen forwarded a news alert text that she had gotten. Davy Jones, the man with that wonderful voice, died today in Florida at age 66. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. He may have been my parents' age, but he was still an important part of my childhood. My childhood isn't supposed to go like that. So I looked on line and found out that no, it wasn't an internet hoax gone to extremes (like Jon Bon Jovi's supposed death last year). It was true. From what's been said (though not officially, unless something new has come up) he died of a heart attack. A part of my childhood was gone.
So I've spent the afternoon remembering what I loved of Davy from my Monkees years. Davy's voice, particularly in the ballads, could make me swoon any time. His diminutive height was a plus (since I'm short myself so I admire short guys). He was everyone's heart throb, but I wanted him to be my brother. I thought the Davy of the television show would have made an awesome brother.
Tonight, I'll be listening to the songs. I'll be thinking about Davy's friends and family and how this loss must be affecting them. I'll be in mourning with the other fans of this wonderful actor and music maker. I'll be queuing up clips on YouTube so I can introduce my boys' to the zaniness of four boys in a band in California. And I will probably shed a few tears.
To Davy's friends and family, my thoughts and prayers are with you now. I am so very sorry for the loss of someone so special. To Davy's fans, I am with you in grief over this news.
And to Davy, thank you for putting yourself out there, for stepping in front of the camera and in front of the microphone to entertain us for more than 45 years. You've brought joy, laughter and tears to many of us over the years and all we can say for it is "Thank you." Good-bye, and rest in peace.
Then I went to visit my father in Florida over the summer. And I came across their television show one night on Nickelodeon (I think I was looking for You Can't Do That on Television.) Regardless of what I was actually looking for, I got sucked into the show. It was musical, it was funny and I wanted to watch every single episode of The Monkees. I had officially become a Monkee-maniac.
I taped every episode I could that summer. When I went back to New York, I wanted to be able to watch it over and over again. I bought several of their albums (actual record albums) and a few of their tapes. My favorite was their previously unreleased stuff on Missing Links. I wore that cassette tape out listening to it over and over again. (And now, I need to go buy it on digital.) Back then, I knew everything there was to know about the Monkees and then some. I could quote stats about their albums, about each of the members, who were the players and who were the actors. I devoured everything I could about them.
I had posters on my wall with the four of them smiling down at me. I had a thing for Peter Tork, but all of them were awesome. And Davy Jones... he had the voice of an angel (and the accent to match). I wanted to go to see on e of their concerts, but it never happened. I used to make up daydreams to help me fall asleep, putting myself in as Davy's sister and getting up to hijinks with the band (I was a weird kid, what can I say?) For several years in my teens, The Monkees were at the top of my list of people I most wanted to meet.
As I got older, the obsession passed, but I still loved their show and their music. Whenever I heard one of them was going to be on a show, I made sure to watch it (in particular, I remember watching My Two Dads and Boy Meets World - shows I don't think I'd watched before or since). I got a smile any time I'd hear one of their songs on the radio. Whenever I'd meet another fan, I'd sit down to debate which episodes were better and which songs were our favorites (for me? "The Devil and Peter Tork" and "Shades of Gray" - see below). They may not have been at the top of my list any longer, but they were still there and still had a special place in my heart.
Earlier today, my friend Carmen forwarded a news alert text that she had gotten. Davy Jones, the man with that wonderful voice, died today in Florida at age 66. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. He may have been my parents' age, but he was still an important part of my childhood. My childhood isn't supposed to go like that. So I looked on line and found out that no, it wasn't an internet hoax gone to extremes (like Jon Bon Jovi's supposed death last year). It was true. From what's been said (though not officially, unless something new has come up) he died of a heart attack. A part of my childhood was gone.
So I've spent the afternoon remembering what I loved of Davy from my Monkees years. Davy's voice, particularly in the ballads, could make me swoon any time. His diminutive height was a plus (since I'm short myself so I admire short guys). He was everyone's heart throb, but I wanted him to be my brother. I thought the Davy of the television show would have made an awesome brother.
Tonight, I'll be listening to the songs. I'll be thinking about Davy's friends and family and how this loss must be affecting them. I'll be in mourning with the other fans of this wonderful actor and music maker. I'll be queuing up clips on YouTube so I can introduce my boys' to the zaniness of four boys in a band in California. And I will probably shed a few tears.
To Davy's friends and family, my thoughts and prayers are with you now. I am so very sorry for the loss of someone so special. To Davy's fans, I am with you in grief over this news.
And to Davy, thank you for putting yourself out there, for stepping in front of the camera and in front of the microphone to entertain us for more than 45 years. You've brought joy, laughter and tears to many of us over the years and all we can say for it is "Thank you." Good-bye, and rest in peace.
02 May 2011
Thoughts on the Death of bin Laden
I'm still on hiatus, but with the news of the death of bin Laden, I wanted to let some of my thoughts out through my fingers. There are a lot of things running through my mind, so this may be a bit stream of consciousness.
I was in NY on 9/11/01. I was at a training class at my company's main office, across the street from the Empire State Building. As we were on the bottom floor, we weren't told anything about the planes being flown into the Twin Towers until around 10 or 10:30. That's when we were told to evacuate the building. We had no idea if more attacks would be coming, if the Empire State Building was going to be a target, or what was happening. I spent a little time in my office a few blocks over, and when the word that they were going to be opening Penn Station and letting the trains run (which was incorrect at the time), I stood with a large crowd of people outside the 32nd street entrance of Penn Station.
I remember three things most strongly from that day - the pain of my feet in slightly too tight shoes, the kindness of the crowd around me, and the fear that every one of us felt when we heard a plane overhead (US fighters, but at the time, we weren't sure of anything). I was so glad when they finally let us onto the trains 3 hours later, and felt even better when my train pulled into my home station so I could be away from the city for awhile.
The aftermath hit me the hardest. There were flyers plastered to every available surface in Penn Station, so many people begging for word on loved ones, not knowing if they were caught inside the tower when it fell. I cried daily, seeing the desperation for information and wishing I knew ways to ease their pain. Almost 10 years, and that's still the strongest memory I have - the pictures inside Penn Station.
And it's been with me for 10 years. I'm not living in NY any longer. I moved just over a year later. Nashville is very different from NYC. But the thoughts still remain. Strange as it sounds, I hope they never do. Time has given me the ability to put distance between myself and those raw emotions. But I can recall them simply, and I think to forget that would dishonor the memory of those that died.
Now the news has come that the mastermind of those attacks is dead. And, even though I'm elated that his reign is finally over, there's a part of me that feels a bit sad.
I don't feel sadness for bin Laden. I think the fact that he is no longer walking this earth makes the world a little bit safer. But the fact that we had to resort to assassination... for some reason, this bothers me. The thought that Americans had to stoop to that level to rid the world of a monster....
I know that it shouldn't bother me. I know that it was the only way. The capture option just leads to the possibility of escape - maybe even stronger than before. I know that he has been a threat to our country and our way of life for far too long - almost 20 years, if I'm remembering correctly. He needed to be taken down. Yet the knowledge that he was taken out by an American assassin just... I don't know. It saddens me.
I'm not so naive as to believe that the government hasn't sanctioned assassinations before. There have been other times when capture wasn't an option and death was the only solution. I may not know details, but I'm a big girl. The blinders about what America will and will not do have long since been removed. And even though I know that those that participated in the storming of the compound have been trained to kill when necessary - at that this was a necessary time - it saddens me that it was a necessity.
I guess what's bothering me most is the fact that it was premeditated. According to Obama, they went in with the orders to kill rather than capture. Before I have anyone come in and slam me for this bothering me, I'll say again. I KNOW THAT THIS WAS THE ONLY WAY THIS COULD HAVE PLAYED OUT. But for some reason, it bothers me that it was the objective. I guess it's the part of me that feels that life is sacred - even the life of evil. (And yes, I'm against the death penalty.) I wish that the objective could have been capture rather than kill. I wish it hadn't been planned so well that there was a bullet put in the side of his head so he would still be recognizable. I guess I wish that the world itself could be a different place than it is.
For all that a small part of me is saddened by the way it had to be, I am grateful for the one thing that is separates the Americans involved in this mission with those that followed bin Laden's orders to hijack and fly American planes into populated areas. The fact that these men (and maybe women - I'm not sure who made up the team) did their best to make sure that no civilians were harmed. bin Laden wasn't the only casualty, but my understanding is that none of the people that were killed were civilians. And I hope I've heard correctly.
So... yeah. There are a lot of various thoughts running through my mind. I'm glad, yet I'm sad. And I don't feel like rejoicing for this necessity. Because for all that the lives taken were those who had taken hundreds... thousands... of lives themselves, we still took human lives. And having to resort to killing another - no matter how evil we may think he is - is enough to sober me.
I was in NY on 9/11/01. I was at a training class at my company's main office, across the street from the Empire State Building. As we were on the bottom floor, we weren't told anything about the planes being flown into the Twin Towers until around 10 or 10:30. That's when we were told to evacuate the building. We had no idea if more attacks would be coming, if the Empire State Building was going to be a target, or what was happening. I spent a little time in my office a few blocks over, and when the word that they were going to be opening Penn Station and letting the trains run (which was incorrect at the time), I stood with a large crowd of people outside the 32nd street entrance of Penn Station.
I remember three things most strongly from that day - the pain of my feet in slightly too tight shoes, the kindness of the crowd around me, and the fear that every one of us felt when we heard a plane overhead (US fighters, but at the time, we weren't sure of anything). I was so glad when they finally let us onto the trains 3 hours later, and felt even better when my train pulled into my home station so I could be away from the city for awhile.
The aftermath hit me the hardest. There were flyers plastered to every available surface in Penn Station, so many people begging for word on loved ones, not knowing if they were caught inside the tower when it fell. I cried daily, seeing the desperation for information and wishing I knew ways to ease their pain. Almost 10 years, and that's still the strongest memory I have - the pictures inside Penn Station.
And it's been with me for 10 years. I'm not living in NY any longer. I moved just over a year later. Nashville is very different from NYC. But the thoughts still remain. Strange as it sounds, I hope they never do. Time has given me the ability to put distance between myself and those raw emotions. But I can recall them simply, and I think to forget that would dishonor the memory of those that died.
Now the news has come that the mastermind of those attacks is dead. And, even though I'm elated that his reign is finally over, there's a part of me that feels a bit sad.
I don't feel sadness for bin Laden. I think the fact that he is no longer walking this earth makes the world a little bit safer. But the fact that we had to resort to assassination... for some reason, this bothers me. The thought that Americans had to stoop to that level to rid the world of a monster....
I know that it shouldn't bother me. I know that it was the only way. The capture option just leads to the possibility of escape - maybe even stronger than before. I know that he has been a threat to our country and our way of life for far too long - almost 20 years, if I'm remembering correctly. He needed to be taken down. Yet the knowledge that he was taken out by an American assassin just... I don't know. It saddens me.
I'm not so naive as to believe that the government hasn't sanctioned assassinations before. There have been other times when capture wasn't an option and death was the only solution. I may not know details, but I'm a big girl. The blinders about what America will and will not do have long since been removed. And even though I know that those that participated in the storming of the compound have been trained to kill when necessary - at that this was a necessary time - it saddens me that it was a necessity.
I guess what's bothering me most is the fact that it was premeditated. According to Obama, they went in with the orders to kill rather than capture. Before I have anyone come in and slam me for this bothering me, I'll say again. I KNOW THAT THIS WAS THE ONLY WAY THIS COULD HAVE PLAYED OUT. But for some reason, it bothers me that it was the objective. I guess it's the part of me that feels that life is sacred - even the life of evil. (And yes, I'm against the death penalty.) I wish that the objective could have been capture rather than kill. I wish it hadn't been planned so well that there was a bullet put in the side of his head so he would still be recognizable. I guess I wish that the world itself could be a different place than it is.
For all that a small part of me is saddened by the way it had to be, I am grateful for the one thing that is separates the Americans involved in this mission with those that followed bin Laden's orders to hijack and fly American planes into populated areas. The fact that these men (and maybe women - I'm not sure who made up the team) did their best to make sure that no civilians were harmed. bin Laden wasn't the only casualty, but my understanding is that none of the people that were killed were civilians. And I hope I've heard correctly.
So... yeah. There are a lot of various thoughts running through my mind. I'm glad, yet I'm sad. And I don't feel like rejoicing for this necessity. Because for all that the lives taken were those who had taken hundreds... thousands... of lives themselves, we still took human lives. And having to resort to killing another - no matter how evil we may think he is - is enough to sober me.
24 March 2011
Various thoughts running through my head
I came downstairs this morning and got on the computer as per usual. I found the last thing that Rich had been reading - an article about why some bullying should be allowed in school. It was inspired by the Casey Heynes video in which an overweight high school kid that was being bullied by classmates turned the tables and finally hit back. Dr Johnson doesn't advocate "turning high schools into publicly-funded 'Lord of the Flies' re-enactments", but instead states that some amount of bullying helps kids navigate in the real world.
I'm torn between agreeing - because, as the need for The Mom Pledge goes to show, bullying exists for adults as well - and thinking he's hopelessly naive. Because, while the physical bullying is a bad enough thing, it's the psychological bullying that's the worst. For every one Casey Heynes, there are hundreds of kids (and yes, I'm pulling the number out of the air so don't take this as gospel) that have fragile egos that makes them both easier prey and life a living hell for them. And of those, there are a small percentage that snap like Michael Carneal in 1997 and resort to extreme violence. It's a lot harder to catch the psychological bullying because kids are crafty enough not to do where adults can hear. And for all that we tell our children that they need to tell an adult when this kind of thing is happening, most kids don't feel comfortable doing so for a variety of reason - no good home life, don't feel like adults take them seriously, feel like telling on the bully makes them a coward. I think this is the kind of bullying that anti-bullying stances are trying to eradicate. Because, I do applaud Casey Heynes for standing up for himself, but think that it will be difficult for a lot of other kids to do the same.
(Yeah, my thoughts aren't completely coherent right now. I may try to write more on this later after coffee and my errands for the day are done.)
_____________________________
Teddy is scared to death of our cat, Lemon. Lemon has a split personality - sometimes he'll want snuggles or be content to lay at the top of the stairs, watching the world go by and other times, he decides that biting or scratching needs to happen at that moment. It's happened often enough to Teddy that he hates to walk by Lemon, afraid that this time it's going to be a time that he'll be scratched or bit. (And this, without realizing it until now, does seem to tie into my above remarks because Lemon is very much a bully.) And a thought ran through my head that gave me a small smile - you so often hear of kids terrorizing pets. How often do you hear of pets terrorizing kids? Not that I'm making light of Teddy's fear of Lemon. I know it's something that really bothers him and I'm trying to help him get over it. But the juxtaposition was an odd one in my mind.
____________________________
I've finally made an appointment for Teddy to see the doctor. We're going to need to leave soon. We won't get to see his doctor, but we will get to see Dr Steigelfest, who is one of Dr Rothman's fabulous partners. I'm hoping that we'll be able to figure out what's up with Teddy. Because fevers up and down for the last week is getting worrying. We'll see what they say.
___________________________
And now, I need to get my butt in gear, get my kids dressed and head out the door. I'm hoping that I'll be able to make a stop at Michael's while we're over there, but I think we'll be done before they open at 9 (appointment is at 8:15.) Maybe I'll get lucky.
More thoughts to come later, because I know I haven't written them all out. And really, would I be able to?
I'm torn between agreeing - because, as the need for The Mom Pledge goes to show, bullying exists for adults as well - and thinking he's hopelessly naive. Because, while the physical bullying is a bad enough thing, it's the psychological bullying that's the worst. For every one Casey Heynes, there are hundreds of kids (and yes, I'm pulling the number out of the air so don't take this as gospel) that have fragile egos that makes them both easier prey and life a living hell for them. And of those, there are a small percentage that snap like Michael Carneal in 1997 and resort to extreme violence. It's a lot harder to catch the psychological bullying because kids are crafty enough not to do where adults can hear. And for all that we tell our children that they need to tell an adult when this kind of thing is happening, most kids don't feel comfortable doing so for a variety of reason - no good home life, don't feel like adults take them seriously, feel like telling on the bully makes them a coward. I think this is the kind of bullying that anti-bullying stances are trying to eradicate. Because, I do applaud Casey Heynes for standing up for himself, but think that it will be difficult for a lot of other kids to do the same.
(Yeah, my thoughts aren't completely coherent right now. I may try to write more on this later after coffee and my errands for the day are done.)
_____________________________
Teddy is scared to death of our cat, Lemon. Lemon has a split personality - sometimes he'll want snuggles or be content to lay at the top of the stairs, watching the world go by and other times, he decides that biting or scratching needs to happen at that moment. It's happened often enough to Teddy that he hates to walk by Lemon, afraid that this time it's going to be a time that he'll be scratched or bit. (And this, without realizing it until now, does seem to tie into my above remarks because Lemon is very much a bully.) And a thought ran through my head that gave me a small smile - you so often hear of kids terrorizing pets. How often do you hear of pets terrorizing kids? Not that I'm making light of Teddy's fear of Lemon. I know it's something that really bothers him and I'm trying to help him get over it. But the juxtaposition was an odd one in my mind.
____________________________
I've finally made an appointment for Teddy to see the doctor. We're going to need to leave soon. We won't get to see his doctor, but we will get to see Dr Steigelfest, who is one of Dr Rothman's fabulous partners. I'm hoping that we'll be able to figure out what's up with Teddy. Because fevers up and down for the last week is getting worrying. We'll see what they say.
___________________________
And now, I need to get my butt in gear, get my kids dressed and head out the door. I'm hoping that I'll be able to make a stop at Michael's while we're over there, but I think we'll be done before they open at 9 (appointment is at 8:15.) Maybe I'll get lucky.
More thoughts to come later, because I know I haven't written them all out. And really, would I be able to?
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