Drive v. Bus

I lied. This post is really (again) about the mass shooting in the high school in Florida.

Last night, Jack and I went to a YMCA event. It wasn't a fundraiser. It was an event for people who previously donated to the YMCA with free food and beverages and Eric Liu as the speaker so that when they call to ask you for money, you will say, of course and open your wallet very wide because you believe in an organization that promotes social equity by creating "weak ties" so we may have a decent, kind and respectful citizenry. "Weak ties" according to sociologists are the small interactions with have with people we kind of know, but not very well. These relationships are the glue that keeps society civil. When we have weak ties with people not like us, our society tends to have more social justice. This was a balm after hearing about the high school shooting in Broward County on Wednesday.

The next morning, I was dressed and on my way out the door to go to work when the Boy said, "I don't want to go to school."

I had driven the kids to school three times this week because

a) the Boy broke his collarbone,
b) the weather was crummy, and
c) I had to drive to work anyway those days, so I might as well drop the kids off at school on the way.

Today, I wanted to take the bus. I wanted twenty-five minutes on the bus to read the newspaper and another twenty minutes to walk from the bus to the office. All three days this week, the kids bickered and bickered and bickered as Claire-Adele wanted to eat the last piece of Jack's birthday cake for breakfast.

I was really looking forward to my bus ride this morning. I was relishing my alone time, so I could come to work relaxed, not annoyed and pissed off at my kids.

"Why don't you want to go to school?" I asked, looking at the clock, knowing I was going to miss the 8:11.

"I just don't," he said, slumping into the couch. I thought why he might not want to go to school: homework, missing ski bus, possible problems with friends. Last night, he said he, Milo and Anna had a deep conversation about school shootings in Chemistry class.

"Is it about your conversation with Milo and Anna yesterday?" I asked.

"No, not that," he said, and I believed him.

"Why don't you eat something. I can toast you a bagel."

"I'm not hungry," he said.

"At least get dressed," I said.

No answer.

"If you need to rest, I can take your phone and computer with me to work," I said in the kindest, least antagonistic way possible. I had to stay calm. Arguing with the Boy, telling him to get his butt of the couch and get to school would only make the situation worse, and I didn't want that. But I'd be damned if he was going to skip school and watch YouTube all day.

"I'll get dressed," said the Boy. And he did. He ate 3/4 of my breakfast sandwich, which was fine. I was glad he ate.

"I can give you a ride to school," I said. I needed to make sure he got to school. I didn't want to get to work and get a phone call from the attendance lady telling me my student wasn't there.

"I can walk," he said. The next bus didn't come until 8:26, so I hung out at home as late as I possibly could. I left when he was putting on his shoes. With a sprint up the hill and around the corner, I made it the stop as the bus was pulling up.

I sank into my seat and checked my email.

Then I read the newspaper, the front page, first article I saw in the New York Times:

Just 24 hours after a shooting that turned this city numb, Lori Alhadeff stood near 17 cream-colored angels with gold wings that lined the park stage where a vigil was held Thursday night. One of those angels represented her daughter, Alyssa, 14, who was killed in the massacre at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School.

Trembling, she said she was there for her daughter, and she was there to talk to anyone who would listen. “My daughter is dead, but all these children out here have to go to school. A shooter should not be able to just walk in,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I hope she didn’t die for nothing.”

Here is a mom whose daughter died twenty-four hours earlier and she is worried about the survivors of the massacre, the kids who have to go back to school.

I lost it. I started crying on the bus. I was glad I was the only one on my team in the office today so I could come in with puffy eyes and no one would notice.

I should have driven my kids to school.

Valentine's Day (sigh)

Note: I was going to write a happy, upbeat little post on why Valentine's Day sucks, but first I need to comment on the school shooting in Florida. Now that both of my kids are in high school, this kind of thing scares me exponentially more than it did when I only had one kid in high school. And I am going to stop thinking "Thank God my kids are safe," which they are. Instead, I will think about the mom who doesn't get to think that tonight.

How much of collective human joy has been destroyed because of these shootings? How many people were planning a festive evening to celebrate their loved ones and then have to experience the shared grief of Florida teenagers and their parents? Should we all become numb--shrug and move on--every time something like this happens? Do we need a magic number of dead kids (say, a dozen?) for a massacre to make national news? Don't kids have enough to worry about these days that they don't need "I could get shot in school by a stranger" added to the list as a credible threat?

I came back from the YMCA this evening and I heard the news on the radio. My son heard about it on Instagram hours before I did. Teens hear about everything that happens anywhere moments after it happens. When I was in middle and high school, we would have the Dan Rather on in the background while we ate dinner. I mostly tuned it out unless something major happened like the Space Shuttle explosion. Now, my kids know more about what Trump said or tweeted today than I do. For better or worse, they are not shielded from the world events. I needed to check in with my kids this evening, to see how they are feeling--worried? angry? sad?

The only hope I have is that my kids and their friends will all grow up someday and call bullshit on allowing people with records of mental illness to have access to AK-47s. Or even anyone to have access to an AK-47. I get blue and moody on occasion and I wouldn't want me handling a weapon on those days. Seriously--even though the likelihood of me committing a mass killing I hope would be infinitely small, would I trust myself that I could keep such a weapon safe and out of the hands of someone who might want to do harm to themselves or others? What about the kids next door? I’d be most worried that the eight year boy next door would think it was a toy and gun down his sisters.

I remember years ago reading about Chechen rebels who attacked a school in Russia and killed more than 300 people. Back then in 2004, I thought that was an act of considerable barbarism. What would be the worst, most reprehensible thing a rebel or terrorist could do to a group of people? Attack their children. It is the lowest of the low. We even think of animals they prey on the young as awful. What birds are considered the worst? The ones that steal other birds eggs. The fox gets a bad rep for stealing eggs from the hen house (and probably a few hens, too.) 

And yet, we permit this to happen. I am not calling for repeal of the second amendment, but nor do I buy the argument that “a few school killings is the price to pay for freedom.”

A Ski, a Pole and a Bone; or "Karma is a B*tch"

The only thing that the Boy hasn't broken this season is his will... and boots. He broke a pair of goggles, too. He went shopping today to get new poles.