Tis the season I swore I’d write nothing about. As a
blogger, I feel it is my responsibility to avoid certain topics. The vat of Rob
knowledge is really more of a tall coffee spilled across the floor. The little bit puddled in the paper
corner when you pick it up is my brain on a good day.
That’s why I make it my responsibility to avoid non-blog
issues. If you want grey matter, see a scientist. If you want grey news, read a
newspaper. If you want a bubbling font of popular opinion, check out Facebook.
Me, I’m just a blogger. I’ve got a tall cup of bold words meant to scald the
tongue, but nothing more.
So when Friday morning opened tragedy season, I vowed to
remain silent. I had nothing new to offer. My bitter sarcasm holds no place for
those who will never view the Christmas season the same way again.
Yeah, no jokes work here.
Last Friday morning, twenty-six human lives were stolen, and
twenty of those lives were barely old enough to read my blog, and all were
still bright enough not to. When I heard the news I felt sick. I’m a sucker for
potential. All of these twinkling Connecticut kids, had futures brighter than
Christmas lights. The adults were already greater than a simple RobBlogger.
They gave the greatest gift of all.
All my words could never equal that. That’s why I planned to
do as I always do. I’d offer alternative holiday plans for those who were
interested, and maybe leave some space for others to grieve in silence.
Fesivus for the rest of us!
Yeah, come Friday afternoon, the silent grieving never came.
The first Facebook friend posts I read were not thoughts of concern or prayers
of sympathy for the families and survivors of Sandy Hook. All I heard were
cries for less gun sales or more gun rights.
Really?
Twenty-six families have nothing more than wrapped piles of Christmas
reminders sitting under their trees and we’re shouting rhetoric about how their
loss affects our personal gun rights?
I thought I had better Facebook friends than that.
Apparently I don’t.
The group of friends I surround myself with posted photos of
dead bodies strewn before gunmen. They wish to fear me into the belief that
taking away all the weapons is the only way to eliminate bloody horror, because
crazy obsessed people are easily thwarted by signs that say “No guns sold
here.” Crazy people would never
think of other destructive outlets to relieve their crazy.
“Oh, and Merry Christmas from the Dangles!”
My other friends post images of a sixteen-year-old’s wet-dream
fantasy teacher in a tight black sweater holding a sub-machine gun. She’s
informing me how instructors should all be armed, because clearly crazy
teachers with non-altruistic agendas are as non-existent as Santa Clause.
“Teachers with guns? Yes, mistress…”
All my friends profess their ideology in the name of those
murdered in Newton. This is the atrocity that forced me to break my vow of
silence. See, It’s horrible enough that these events happened, but to push
agendas in the name of those involved is even worse: it’s destructive.
My friends’ fight isn’t the victim’s fight. I’m betting
nobody who died Friday got up and said, “I want to sacrifice myself in the name
of armed Americans!”
I’m also pretty sure my friends’ fight isn’t the survivor’s
fight. I once had a friend who was tied to a dead man for several hours while
the police negotiated with the armed terrorists holding him captive. His first thoughts weren’t for
Americans with arms. In fact I think he’d have gnawed off his own arms if it
had gotten him to safety. That friend kept his arms and his life, but going
forward, what he needed more than gun debate was real friends, family, love and
patience as he came to grips with what had happened. He needed people to listen
to the real questions he asked.
“Why?”
That’s the reason I don’t like to blog about these things. I
don’t have the answer in my little cup. I’m a superficial blogger. I like to
ask neat little questions and pretend that my fluffy answers are really deep.
“Why?”
I don’t know. Like
my survivor friend, when it comes to this, I can’t even form questions beyond
single words. I just know that we have a growing problem, and all this gun talk
is distracting people from the real issue.
When I was a kid in school we didn’t have mass murders in
school. We had bullies. We had violence. We even had students with guns. They
were rare, but yes, they existed. Gun laws were lax, but we didn’t need Annie
Oakley teaching music.
“SING!”
So what’s different? Our teachers smoked. Our students didn’t
have cell phones. Beyond that, I’ve got nothing.
I can say that people generally aren’t that creative. We
repeat what we see. After Columbine, we had a new blueprint for crazy angst
outlets. Then the media provided instant fame for those willing to go the extra
mile. Today is Monday and we’re still sorting through what we think we know
about what happened Friday. Maybe we give them too much credit.
Remember Chesley Sullenberger? He’s the pilot who saved those
people in the Hudson River airplane crash. Do you know what I remember most about his day of glory? I
remember the video footage of all those ships rushing to pull people out of the
water: all those nameless boat captains doing what was right. Why didn’t they
get more publicity?
We give
notoriety for all the wrong reasons.
Most of us will remember Friday’s killer longer than we’ll remember Saturday’s
death list.
“Why?”
I don’t know,
but that needs to change. My heart goes out to all the parents, the husbands,
and the wives of those who were lost and those who survived the Sandy Hook
tragedy. I don’t have the answers, but I don’t have an agenda either. I pray
that God eases the burden on your heart and that you never know such horror
again.
And that’s as
deep as this blogger gets.
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