Tired of Being a Coward

When I first saw the news from Uvalde, Texas I decided that there wasn’t anything else to say about school shootings in this space since I had written over a dozen posts after similar carnage. Instead, I reposted two of the more detailed posts on the subject and let it go at that. 

Ever since I’ve felt like a coward.

The truth is that I can’t get the images of those children out of my head. I can never unsee the pictures of those two teachers who died trying to protect them. I can never shake the panic that wells up in me the instant I hear or read the words school shooting, that moment when the unimaginable enters my head…could it be Pam’s school, Kaitlin’s, or the classrooms of the half dozen other teachers I know and love? Then I immediately think of my nieces and nephews, the children of my friends and neighbors. When I hear that its some school in west Texas, I begin to breathe again. But, what about those west Texas kids? What about their parents? Those kids will never draw another breath, and those parents will never breathe again without the heavy weight of grief grinding away at their souls.

I’ve spent the last couple of days skimming through all the stale arguments about guns. I’ve read of statistics that suggest that this or that might work, others that draw the opposite conclusion. I’ve read passionate defenses of an unfettered 2nd Amendment, equally passionate pleas for banning assault rifles. 

On my Facebook feed, that hardy perennial—the calligraphy lettering against baby blue background which reminds us that guns are not the problem, just the people who use them—has made many appearances. I read the words and part of me agrees with the sentiment. Guns are inanimate objects, neither evil or good until put to use for either evil or good purposes. I get it. But the notion that a weapon designed to kill as many people as possible in the shortest amount of time is irrelevant to what happened in Uvalde, Texas is patently absurd. The fact that the particular weapon involved was purchased by a boy on his 18th birthday, even though that boy had a history of making unhinged claims on social media that he had big plans to shoot up an elementary school, is certainly not irrelevant…is it?

What disturbs me the most about this conversation is the fatalism of it all, the notion that at the end of the day we are powerless to prevent these horrors. There are 300 million deadly weapons in the United States, 17 million of them AR-15’s. Any attempt at confiscation would be a fool’s errand. Actually, I have made a similar argument in this space on more than one occasion and part of me still believes it.

But, as a citizen of a nation where school shootings are as ordinary as the common cold, to remain true to the proposition that there is nothing we can do to stop the killing is to give up, admit defeat, and get back to binging the Johnny Depp trial.

No. Not this time.

I am not at all convinced that any particular action we might take as a country would be a “solution”. I am equally unconvinced that any change in law we might enact would stop all such crimes. Preventing mass shootings will be a generational effort requiring many attempts at solutions. But I’ve grown weary of the defeatist attitude that has rendered us powerless to stop the mass murder of school children. 

I see this chart and I want to punch someone in the face:

Since the beginning of The Tempest in 2011 there have been the following number of school shootings:

Canada—2

France—2

Germany—2

Japan—-0

Italy—-0

Britain—0

The United States of America—-288

I refuse to accept this horrifying statistic as something that Americans simply have to endure. If this is the price we all are forced to pay so anyone anywhere at any time can purchase an automatic rifle, then I submit to you that the price is too damn high.

So, I am open to trying to stop it. Let’s try some reasonable restrictions designed to prevent crazy people from getting their hands on weapons of mass killing intent. At least make it harder, right? I’m tired of hearing how easy it was for some lunatic to buy an AR-15, how insanely simple it was for them to arm themselves with such deadly tools. If we enact a law that doesn’t work, we’ll have to try something else. It will be a process, a crucible we all will have to endure to make our nation less dangerous for our school children. But whatever you do, don’t tell me there’s nothing we can do. That is defeatist bullshit of the highest order and frankly, un-American. We put a man on the moon for God’s sake. What we truly can no longer afford to do is…nothing.

Patrick’s Day

This boy was born on May 25th. He was and is the son I had always wanted. Every time I get into a debate with him about politics, it occurs to me that he is, indeed, my boy. When he makes a better case than I do, I’m so proud of him I can hardly stand it. He has the sensitive, discerning heart of an artist, a natural musical gift that cannot be taught, and a blistering, sarcastic wit...my one lasting contribution to his DNA. His mother would probably say that his only fault is the fact that the lenses of his glasses are always filthy.

Poor Lucy and Her Traumatic Beauty Shop Experience

Every so often I have to take Lucy to the groomers for a haircut. I don’t like to do it, mostly because I hate leaving her with strangers anywhere for half the day, but also because she never looks right when I get her back. First of all, she’s a Golden. She’s supposed to have frills, fringes and a poof of a tail. She’s not a lab, for heavens sake. But eventually Goldens can get a bit out of control with the fringes and what not, so you take her over to Petsmart and drop her off at 10:00 in the morning and await the text informing you that she is ready.

They promise you that she will get a luxurious bath complete with some sort of milk conditioner, a thorough teeth brushing, and a nail grinding, plus a fresh haircut. When you drop her off, the stylist points out that Lucy has several mats on her belly which must be dealt with first. I was aware of the existence of these mats, a rarity for Lucy, but the primary reason I have her at the groomers in the first place. I’m figuring that if her hair has gotten long and shaggy enough to develop mats, its time for a cut. No need to worry, I am assured by the perky stylist, she will take care of everything.

The text comes at 1:45. I drop everything and dash over to Petsmart full of nervous apprehension. Poor Lucy has been cooped up over there for nearly 4 hours. What the heck were they doing for four hours? I pull into the parking lot and kill the engine.

Ok. When they bring her out the first thing that comes out of my mouth is “Um..why did you cut her hair so SHORT?” 

Immediately, the stylist launches into a long and unnecessarily technical dissertation about how tricky mat-shaving can be, how to make everything blend in she was forced to cut her hair “a little” shorter than usual. I was so distracted by her absence of frills and fringes that I completely missed the total hack job that was done on her ears. Poor Lucy was mortified with the shame of it all, refusing to perk her ears up no matter what the provocation happened to be on the ride home. Its as if she knew that her ears were a train wreck and the poor girl didn’t want to draw any attention to them!

Normally, this is what frilly, fringy Lucy looks like:

Here she is post hack job:

The good news is that we don’t leave for Maine for 44 more days. Maybe she will look like her old self by then. But for now, she is quite upset with her grooming experience. Any condolence comments you all can offer up will be read aloud to her in an attempt to cheer the poor girl up. 

Thank You!

Max and Patron

Got back home yesterday afternoon after a fabulous few days away only to discover that I now have a new deadly virus to lose my mind over…Monkeypox. If that wasn’t bad enough I then see a headline about how Southern Baptist leaders have been stonewalling and denigrating sex abuse victims within the denomination for years, according to some third party investigative report. The trifecta of horribleness took the form of a recent poll that states that more Americans care about the Johnny Depp v Amber Heard trial than care about abortion or the war in Ukraine…combined.

Impossible as it might seem for things to get any worse, I then discover a story about a new low to which the Russian armed forces have fallen…

Meet “Max”, the Belgian Malinois special forces dog who was abandoned by the Russian army and left to starve. Ukrainian forces found Max and nursed him back to health, taught the super smart dog to understand Ukrainian commands and have now redeployed him as a bomb sniffer where he is doing great work and has become a soldier favorite. In doing so, Max has joined the ranks of many medal-winning canines in service to Ukraine, none more famous than this guy:

This is “Patron”, a Jack Russell terrier who was recently awarded a medal for meritorious service to the Ukrainian nation by his heroic and tireless efforts to find Russian land mines. Patron—who’s name translates in English to “bullet”— weighs in at a mere 4K which means that his weight does not trigger the mines. However, this also means that his handlers have to be careful giving him treats. The picture of Patron receiving his medal has been one of the most popular photographs of the entire war in Ukraine…

One more thing…a shoutout has to go out to my sweet cousin Peggy. When I got back home there was an envelope addressed to me in her handwriting. When I opened it there was a note from Peggy who had been going through some old things belonging to her mother, my aunt, Mary. One of the things she found was our wedding invitation from 1984. She had enclosed it in the envelope and sent it to us to fondly remember during our anniversary. One of the sweetest, most thoughtful things anyone has done for us in a long time. Love you, Cousin.

What We’ve Been Up To

So, today was amazing and fun. We decided to rent a couple of bikes and ride over to Assateague Island and do the wildlife loop trail. It was a delightful 74 degrees and sunny at 9:00 am when we peddled out of the Bike Depot on Chincoteague. We hadn’t made it a quarter mile before I got my first reprimand from Pam who was behind me. She took exception to me showing her how I could ride with no hands. The woman has zero sense of humor when it comes to my brand of high jinx, something that has caused her 38 years of indigestion. She probably wasn’t thrilled when she saw me attempt this selfie while we were on the trail, but it just had to be done…

It should be pointed out that numerous times I offered to surrender the point to her, but each time she refused, while muttering something like, “no, no…you go ahead. Just try a little harder not to give me a heart attack”

Anyway, about halfway through the loop trail there was a brief detour that took you close to the beach. Once there, you were asked to park your bike and walk the hundred yards or so over the dunes to see the view. When we crested the dunes, this is what we saw:

As far as the eye could see in both directions, untouched, unspoiled beach. Way off in the distance to the north we spotted one human being. It was breathtaking. We just walked around for a while taking pictures and smiling…

I finally got Pam to take the point on the home stretch…

One of the themes of this trip has been, down here, we eat kinda what we want, when we want it. Since Pam had eaten no breakfast before our 7.5 mile bike ride she was psyched to get back to the condo for a cup of fat-free yogurt sprinkled with all-bran that had her name on it. But in a surprising development opted for Mister Whippy instead…

…where haute cuisine meets island shabby.

As soon as we woofed these guys down we turned in our bikes, then drove back to the condo to apply some sunscreen, and headed back to the beach where all the human beings are. Once there we lunched on some really high quality kettle corn, Cheetos and washed it all down with Mountain Dew. Tonight we have reservations at AJ’s on the Creek, a nice restaurant, which we are assured, serves real food. It is pour intention to order an appetizer of questionable nutritional value, a couple of calorie-drenched entree’s which come with a 25% off coupon for your first by-pass operation, then indulge our sweet tooth with ice cream from the Island Creamery, who’s slogan reads, “Well, you’ve gotta die of something!”

Day One

There is an estuary just off the back of our condo in Chincoteague which is filled and emptied by the tides. When we arrived yesterday it had been reduced to a thin and shallow stream and a wide bed of mud teaming with life. When we got back from dinner it was three feet deep, reflecting moonbeams that lit up the grassy marsh. Now at 5:30 in the morning, it is emptying out again, the starlings flitting this way and that all along the water’s surface, while the sun lights up the eastern sky in the distance…

Speaking of dinner, our’s was delightful. We had the Bada Bing Shrimp appetizer at the Ropewalk Restaurant and could have left happy after that alone. Then they brought us the entree, a scallop feast on a bed of rice with lump crab meat and tomatoes…

Of course, after dinner we were obligated by the forces of nature and nature’s God to visit the Island Creamery for prodigious helpings of ice cream served on home made waffle cones.

Consequently, today will feature much outdoor exercise to make restitution for last night’s epicurean delights. A good thing since I feel certain that tonight will feature similar deliciousness.

I hate to mention this considering what our Short Pump friends will have to endure today, but today the forecast is for partly sunny skies and 72 degrees.

In a World Where You Can Be Anything…Be Kind

A word about my Aunt’s funeral today.

My brother Donnie was asked by the family to perform the service. He drove down from Maryland and did a wonderful job. Over the last several years since he retired, my brother has taken up being a professional encourager. I only recently leaned that he would call Emma every Monday morning to talk. She had been battling cancer for four years, perhaps that was why he called her so faithfully. At the service he deadpanned, “Hey, I’m retired now, I’ve got nothing else to do.” But I’m sure it meant the world to her. Because he and Emma had music in common, he would often play her his latest composition over the phone. So, at the funeral he played and sang a couple of her favorite hymns, then closed the service out with a wonderful, haunting arrangement of Wayfaring Stranger. In between the music, he retold some of Emma’s favorite stories from when she was growing up on the farm with my Dad. It was a lovely time spent with cousins and my brother and sisters.

But perhaps the most incredible thing about the funeral was what I learned about Aunt Emma that I was clueless about. I mentioned in yesterday’s blog that she was in a semi-famous country and western band back in the late 50’s and early 60’s called the Country Cavaliers. What I learned today at her funeral was just how much of a freaking big deal she was!! I walked in to the Bliley’s chapel over on Hull Street road and saw a big screen right above her casket upon which  a series of photographs were scrolling by, shots of Emma as a teenager, pictures of her and her sister and my Dad when they were just kids. But then, out of the blue, I see a picture of Emma looking movie-star gorgeous standing next to a smiling…Willie Nelson!! It was back when he had short hair and no beard, but it was Willie Nelson, or at least I thought it was. Then the next shot goes up. This one has Emma cozied up with Johnny Cash. The next thing I know, a succession of pictures of my beautiful Aunt Emma with a cavalcade of country music legends…Buck Owens, Porter Wagoner, Lester Flatt, Earl Scruggs. It was only then that I discovered that the Country Cavaliers served as the house band for the New Dominion Barn Dance which aired every Saturday night of WTVR for eleven years. In those years Emma’s band often played and sang backup for these stars whenever they came through town. Amazing.

But, here’s the best thing about the service. Everyone who spoke kept saying the same thing, using the exact same word to sum up who Emma was. that word was…Kind. That’s the word I think of when remembering her, but I knew her well when I was just a child. But apparently, it was no act because that’s all anyone could talk about today, how kind she was. What a glorious legacy for any human being.

My daughter probably doesn’t remember Emma, but as a teacher down in Columbia, South Carolina she has a slogan of sorts and she keeps it on display in her classroom and on her social media pages. Here’s what it says…

“In a World Where You Can Be Anything…Be Kind.”

Thanks, Aunt Emma for leading the way.