After school, my son asked if he could go to Popeye’s with his friends.
I said yes not because I wanted him to go. I didn’t. I spent the day listening to coverage of the school shooting in Santa Clarita. I wanted to take him home.
Still, I gave him a few bucks and off he went.
I said yes not because I wanted him to go. I didn’t. I spent the day listening to coverage of the school shooting in Santa Clarita. I wanted to take him home.
Still, I gave him a few bucks and off he went.
We talked about the shooting on the way home.
And then the subject changed and we talked about the ordinary normalcy of he and his friends pooling their money and sharing a bucket of chicken.
For him, a shooting far away is a bit of an abstraction. For me, less so.
And then the subject changed and we talked about the ordinary normalcy of he and his friends pooling their money and sharing a bucket of chicken.
For him, a shooting far away is a bit of an abstraction. For me, less so.
Now he’s stretched out next to me. Both of us on our phones. Him with earbuds in. A faint waft of music every now and then.
Me, I’m still somewhere between settled and unsettled.
Happy to be home. Unsettled by just how unsafe a world we have made for our children. Depressing.
Me, I’m still somewhere between settled and unsettled.
Happy to be home. Unsettled by just how unsafe a world we have made for our children. Depressing.
