I spent today, like so many others, listening and watching as the news outlets covered the shooting in Virginia. Congressmen were shot, so the coverage was intense and constant.
I have to write down some what I’m feeling. Otherwise, you know, I’d probably explode in a shower of tear soaked sparks.
It was terrible. It’s a terrible, horrible, awful thing for innocent people to become targets for angry, sick, armed lunatics. When I heard the news breaking this morning I cried. I held my hand over my mouth. I shook my head.
It’s so awful. It should NOT be happening.
Now its a few hours later. I’ve been listening to the men who went through the ordeal.
These middle aged men, some of them military veterans, were on TV, fighting tears. They were talking about how surreal it was. How much they feared for each other, and for themselves. How they thought about their families, wanting to see them again.
These men, one after the other, are shaken, upset, angry and filled with the natural need to process all of this.
My heart goes out to them.
This happens every day.
Multiple times every day, someone in this country is faced with the surreal situation of being in the presence of an angry shooter.
I think about the children living in America’s cities who have been in their very own bedrooms when shots go off right outside their windows. I think about how horrified those little ones must be, every single damn day.
I wonder if those Congressmen are thinking about these kids?
This morning I heard one of the shaken Congressman saying that he felt like he was a “sitting duck” in the first base dugout. His voice was trembling, he was taking deep breaths as he told his story. I heard the sympathetic voice of the reporter, clearly feeling empathy for the Representative.
That’s when I really stared to cry. To sob, with the back of my hand against my lips. “Sitting ducks”, just waiting to be shot and waiting to die. My mind filled with the image of trembling, terrified victims, suddenly faced with a madman and his gun. Knowing that they were about to die.
But I didn’t see middle aged Congressmen. I didn’t.
I saw first graders. I saw kindergarten students. I saw babies, huddling in terror on the floor of their classroom, crying to their terrified young teacher. Asking her to save them.
I saw my students, looking to me for an explanation after Newtown.
I thought about all the guns, the tens of millions of guns that have flooded this country. I thought about all the times a gun has been used to massacre the innocent.
And I thought about those security officers. How they have to go to work every day knowing that there could be a shooter on any corner. In any building, at any event, on any day. They are surrounded by guns. I thought about how they must feel going to work. How their parents and their spouses and their children must feel.
So I am once again thinking, and praying, and hoping that at last we might see our lawmakers address the need to control our guns.
But if I bring it up, or if anyone does, we are told “this is not the time to politicize” this tragedy.
So here’s my question.
What’s political about wanting to be safe in my own neighborhood?
How is it partisan to think people should be safe at baseball practice? Or to want my grandchildren safe at the park?
See, I don’t think that controlling how many guns are out there is political. I don’t think passing laws about what kinds of weapons can be carried around our cities is partisan.
I think its time to question our obsession with outshooting the bad guys.
It’s not political. It’s logical.