I had a nice little post written for today, all ready to go. It was funny, cute, kind of trite. Basically, a good five hundred words about this weeks “celebrations”.
Then the phone calls and Facebook messages started coming in, and suddenly I don’t feel like celebrating anymore.
Are you watching the news?
Did you hear what happened?
What school do your kids go to?
Thankfully, it wasn’t their school. But it’s a school that’s ten minutes away. My daughter’s dance recital is supposed to be in the auditorium there in just a few weeks. I know the school, and I know some of the kids.
At this point, most of the information is sketchy, but two important bits are getting through: It was a “homemade explosive device” that went off, and no one was hurt.
We buckle them into their carseats; we fasten their bicycle helmets. We take them to get their immunizations, and we try to get them to eat healthy foods. We do everything we can to keep them safe. And then we send them off to school, where they should have to worry about grades and popularity and ACT scores.
How do we protect them from bombs in lockers?
It’s all well and good to try to be an optimist; I want to believe the words of Patton Oswalt about that “fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a percent” that do horrible things. I really want to keep the faith that my fellow human beings are basically good.
Today, I’ve lost my faith.