Category Archives: Politics
All Good Superheroes Ask Questions, Don’t They?
According to some people, I suffer from a very bad habit, and, if I knew what was good for me, I’d have given it up for Lent.
But I didn’t and I probably never will, so my friends and family are forced to deal with my habitual need to ask questions. Lots and lots of questions. About anything and everything.
My husband and kids call me “The Interrogator.”
I’d like to think that means they consider me a superhero who unveils misdeeds, liars and unacceptable behavior by eventually asking so many questions the truth is revealed.
Unfortunately, they aren’t paying me a compliment and instead are simply letting me know they find my all questions annoying. I’ve also been told that people who ask a lot of questions are subconsciously trying to take control of a situation.
There’s probably some truth to that, but I’d rather be annoying than to sit back and just allow people and organizations to get away with actions that affect and sometimes hurt others.
(UPI Photo/Roger L. Wollenberg)
I also like to think that, as an inquisitor, I’m in good company.
This week, at her first Banking, Housing and Urban Affairs Committee hearing, Senator Elizabeth Warren questioned bank regulators about why they hadn’t prosecuted a bank since the financial crisis. Her question seemed simple enough, “Tell me,” she requested “about the last few times you’ve taken the biggest financial institutions on Wall Street to trial. Anybody?”
Instead of simply responding “never,” the regulators tried to explain why there was no need to prosecute.
As with anything political, there are those who agree with Senator Warren and those who don’t.
But her actions, to me, were bigger than pointing out the double standard for big corporations versus average citizens or about ensuring that bank executives don’t continue to pass the repercussions of their behaviors onto the general public. Her actions were about her willingness to ask the tough questions and to not back down. Her actions were about repeating the same question over and over again until someone is forced to answer. And, to be honest, her actions were about validating my own behavior.
I’m not even close to being in Elizabeth Warren’s league much the less in the Justice League, but I do believe heroes have to ask the hard questions. If they don’t, silence persists, and nothing ever changes.
So even though my family insists on calling me “The Interrogator” to try to shut me up, it’s not working. Instead, I’m thinking of getting one of those t-shirts with a big question mark on the front. It may not be the fashion statement superheroes make when wearing their capes, but it just might be a start.
Because if no one questions the status quo, then nothing ever changes or improves. So, far all the
I Couldn’t Get a Dog so I Got a Gun
Conflict among people is normal, and most of us accept it as a routine part of life. Conflict within ourselves is just as normal, but something with which we often struggle.
As a licensed social worker, I couldn’t get out of bed every morning if I didn’t believe people can change, that humans have an innate responsibility to support each other and that no good comes from belittling others.
As a rational human, I couldn’t get through life if I simply tolerated and never called out stupid and ridiculous beliefs and behaviors.
As a licensed social worker, I have to ensure that my conduct is appropriate, that I abide by a code of ethics and that I participate in ongoing continuing education.
As a rational human, I am dumbfounded by people who complain when they are required to meet expectations and criteria before they are provided with opportunities and privileges.
As a licensed social worker, I have an obligation to listen, try to understand the perspective of others and validate their feelings.
As a rational human, I simply cannot understand why others choose to ignore facts, scream conspiracy and throw around accusations that are hurtful. I have to call out people who choose to believe and spread all of the vile, ridiculous and illogical propaganda about gun control that I have been witnessing over the past few weeks.
The rabid followers of the NRA propaganda machine remind me of children blindly hitting a piñata at a birthday party. For most people, hitting the piñata is just fun game that results in children scrambling for a few pieces of candy. But the NRA is turning gun control into a piñata that must be destroyed and is putting the blindfolds on people as they swing at it. Those swinging the sticks are convinced that if they don’t break the piñata, they will never have candy again.
In reality, if the piñata doesn’t break, the children won’t be denied candy. They just won’t get the immediate gratification they are seeking.
Most parents allow their children to have candy, but they don’t want them to make a diet of it. Similarly, gun control advocates are not screaming that everyone’s guns should be confiscated. Instead, they are recognizing that too many lives are being broken and destroyed by guns and that something must be done. To counter that, claims are being made that the gun death statistics in the United States aren’t that bad.
Tell that to someone who has lost a loved one to a gun. For them, one death is too many.
Just ask Jackie Barden, whose son Daniel was killed at Sandy Hook Elementary school in December. Jackie recently noted that the process for adopting a kitten is more difficult than getting a gun.
I don’t know much about adopting kittens, but I do know a lot about adopting dogs. As a volunteer for a dog rescue group, my role is to process applications. In other words, I do background checks. I check national “do not adopt” lists. I do a criminal background check. I conduct property checks. I review living arrangements. I talk to animal control and veterinarians about the applicants. And I call references. If I don’t find any red flags, another volunteer conducts a home visit.
Many families who want to adopt a dog are denied for a variety of reasons: they’ve had pets hit by cars; they haven’t spayed or neutered their current or previous pets; they aren’t home enough to spend quality time with an animal; they don’t have the money or space for a dog; they already have too many pets. The list is long and varied, but the bottom line is the same. Rescue groups want to ensure the dogs have a good quality of life and, most of all, that they are safe.
We should want the same for people. And yet, in the United States, people who are denied adopting a dog can walk into a store or a gun show and buy almost any gun they want.
We might be keeping dogs safe, but I have to wonder about the people.
When Tears Aren’t Enough
I’m rarely at a loss for words, yet I had nothing to say last week when my daughter asked me the simple question “why?”
Instead of answering, I stood silent as a single tear rolled down my cheek.
We were visiting the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.
I’d been there previously, but my daughter hadn’t. She’s been studying the Holocaust in school, so I thought she was mature enough to fully appreciate the exhibits and the message.
For the most part, she was, and we took our time going from floor to floor as the timeline of events leading up to the Holocaust unfolded. Then we got to the floor with evidence of the Holocaust and all its atrocities.
We stood inside one of the small, bare and unheated railroad cars that transported up to 100 people to the concentration camps. We stuck our heads into one of the actual bunks from Auschwitz. And we stood next to piles and piles of shoes that were taken from prisoners right before they were gassed.
But nothing affected my daughter more than a photograph of braids in a larger pile of hair the Nazis had collected. (They stuffed mattresses with the hair collected at concentration camps.)
Braids define my daughter. She almost always wears her long hair in one or two braids, and this month, she taught herself to french braid. That made the photo of the braids very personal.
The photo and her reaction struck me too. They reminded me of how incredibly precious my daughter is, and how incredibly precious all the daughters that died in the Holocaust were.
And because of that, I just couldn’t answer her question “why?”
How can you explain to an 11 year-old girl that some people need to point fingers and find someone to blame for difficult times? She lives in a world where that happens on a daily basis. People find it simpler to blame a person or a group of people than they to understand that situations are complicated and are rarely the fault of one person or group.
How can you explain to an 11 year-old girl that some people will simply accept what they read, see or hear when that message justifies their own belief system? She lives in a world where people spew “facts” that are completely inaccurate just because they were presented as the truth.
How can you explain to an 11 year-old girl that some people place their material possessions and personal bank accounts above the health and safety of others? She lives in a world in which people complain that their tax dollars are being used to help those in need.
How can you explain to an 11 year-old girl that some people are comforted by the belief that there is only one legitimate faith. She lives in a world were so-called Christians condemn other religions while claiming ownership of a morality.
How can you explain to an 11 year-old girl that people are comfortable condemning those with different political beliefs and world views? She lives in a world when people use nasty words to define anyone who thinks differently than they do.
And how can explain to an 11 year-old girl that people who loved each other were killed simply for who they loved? She lives in a world where people still claim that some love is an abomination and sinful.
Any explanation I could provide as to why the Holocaust occurred would simply reflect a world in which she lives. And I didn’t want to scare her.
Instead, I scared myself. And no matter how many tears I cry about the Holocaust, I know they aren’t enough to stop the hate that still exists in the world.
Fear and Self Doubt at the End of a Pointed Finger
A few months after I moved to West Virginia from Oregon, a girl in my junior high gym class pushed me into a dark corner of an unused shower, got in my face and screamed at me for being too smart. As she pointed her finger into my chest, she told me that I had better stop acting like I was better than everyone else. She was joined by two other girls whose spittle sprayed across my face as they railed at me – screaming that every time I got a high score on a test or assignment, I ruined the curve for everyone else. They also told me that I talked funny, should accept I was in West Virginia and needed to start acting like it.
Even though the incident probably lasted only a few minutes, the repercussions have lasted my entire life. Yet I never told anyone about what happened, and, up until now, it’s been a secret between me and the three others involved.
But this week, with all of the negative comments and finger-pointing after the presidential election, the memory has come flooding back.
After the incident in the shower, I hated myself and believed I was somehow to blame for the situation. While I never purposely got a bad grade, I was still bullied into submission. I spent years locked in the prison of being a follower rather than an individual. Throughout my adolescence, most of the opinions or beliefs I espoused weren’t really my own. Instead, I was simply parroting what I had heard and what I thought would help me fit in.
Even worse, I was full of self-doubt about who I was and what I believed.
Thankfully, I grew up and I grew strong. I grew to be an independent woman who could think for herself, believe in her own intelligence and develop a conscience that extends far beyond her own wants and needs. I also grew into a woman who isn’t tolerant when people make judgments about or reject someone who acts or thinks differently than they do. I know all too well what that feels like.
That’s why some of the harsh comments and reactions to this week’s election took me right back to the shower where I was being bullied.
I understand why some people are angry and frustrated. I felt the same way after the 2000 and 2004 elections. But I didn’t to purposely make others feel bad about their beliefs and opinions. Yet that’s what I’ve been witnessing, and to me, the reactions mirror how the girls in the shower treated me.
People are angry at the election results and are trying to find someone else to blame. The girls were angry about their own grades and had to find a scapegoat, which was me.
Romney supporters are screaming that those who voted for Obama are idiots, morons, traitors and worse. The girls didn’t question my intelligence, but they did question my standards and integrity.
Some extremists are complaining that Obama rallied minorities and people on welfare to vote for him and, in those complaints, they are insinuating that these individuals don’t have the same status as “real” Americans. The girls complained that I, a newcomer to a community where they had lived their entire lives, should be conforming to their definition of normal.
The main difference between now and when I was a teenager is that I am not going to be quiet when I hear or witness such behavior. It’s wrong and people should be told it’s wrong. Neither do I feel bad about myself or my beliefs. I now recognize that anyone who points a finger is simply trying to transfer their own fear and self-doubt to someone else.
Instead of pointing fingers we should be joining hands so together we can tackle some of the tough issues we face. After, all, it’s’ hard to be angry, fearful or full of doubt when your fingers are touching someone else’s.
My File Cabinets Full of Men
I completely appreciate why the internet is buzzing about Governor Romney’s claim during Tuesday’s presidential debate that he had “binders full of women.” But there’s also a part of me that identifies with his statement.
I, after all, have file cabinets full of men.
While Romney said he used the binders to identify qualified candidates for key positions in state government, my file cabinets serve an entirely different purpose.
I use them to store reminders of all the men that are NOT qualified to be in any part of my life.
I started my first file when I was a young girl and a boy told me that men were more important than women because they got to keep their last names when they got married. I was devastated, but I was also angry. As a result, that boy had the honor of being the first male I ever put in a file cabinet.
Over the decades, I’ve filled several file cabinets with men. Some of the most memorable include:
* The minister who insisted my friend keep the word “obey” in her wedding vows.
* The agency director who tried to prevent me from getting a management position because I breastfed my baby during a meeting that I graciously attended while on maternity leave.
* The community leader who always referred to me by using my husband’s last name, even though he knew I had never changed mine.
* The manager who issued a dress code that all female employees must wear pantyhose with skirts or dresses. (For the record, the dress code was issued during the summer when I was eight months pregnant.)
* The nonprofit executive who, with a staff of all women, refused to let mothers take sick leave when a child was ill or had a doctor’s appointment. At that time, we were all granted a set number of days for both vacation and sick leave, but vacation was much more limited. The director’s exact words were, “letting mothers take sick leave for their children isn’t fair to the employees who don’t have children.”
* The supervisor who blatantly promoted young, attractive females over more qualified, middle-aged women.
I’ve recently been considering adding another man to my file cabinets. While this man claims to support women, he’s never demonstrated any real understanding of the often life-long battle many of us have faced. He’s skirted around the issues of equal pay for equal work and reproductive rights. And even when he tries to express his appreciation about the need for equality in the workplace, he falls short by indicating that women don’t want to work long hours because they have to go home and fix dinner.
Yes, this week I’m definitely thinking about adding that man to my file cabinets. I’m just not sure if his binders will fit too.
Will You Sound Bite This?
Being married to a national journalist has its advantages. For example, when I’m feeling completely uninformed or confused about national or international events, I have a readily available source to answer my questions.
There are also disadvantages. The news never takes a vacation, so my husband works weekends and odd hours. He can’t express any public opinions about politics (really, he’s not allowed), and even though he and his co-workers are held to very high standards, when people criticize the media as an industry, they are also criticizing his professional integrity.
Regardless, I credit broadcast journalism for giving me a great life. It’s how I met my husband, it pays the bills and it’s how I started my career.
And while my career in broadcast journalism was extremely short-lived, the lessons it taught me have served me well over the past couple 
decades. For example:
1) There will always be people who lie or mislead in order to protect their own self-interest. Being able to separate fact from fiction, determine what’s relevant and ensure the truth prevails requires perseverance and a Teflon shield.
2) Well-known people in the public eye generally aren’t making the biggest difference in the lives of others. There are always exceptions, but many are more intent on advancing their own agenda than they are with furthering the common good. Most often, the people behind the scenes are the ones who do the work and really know what’s happening.
3) There are always two sides to every sound bite.
From most people’s perspective, a sound bite is simply a very short clip of a much larger conversation. But for people on both sides of the microphone, it is much, much more.
A simple statement can inspire, inform or be blown completely out of proportion when taken out of context. A few words are often louder than the most heartfelt speech.
Just ask Mitt Romney or President Obama. During this campaign season, Romney’s comment “I like being able to fire people” wasn’t referring to his record at Bain Capital, but his opponents seized the opportunity to use those words against him. A few months later, President Obama had a similar experience when he said, “You didn’t build that.”
You would think both men would more carefully choose the exact words and phrases that come out of their mouths, but they are human. And a good sound bite is irresistible to a reporter. I should know.
I’ve been on both sides of the microphone many times, and I thought I had the sound bite mastered. And then I fell into the trap myself.
My daughter was just under a year old when I took her and her four-year old brother to a public pool. My mother had joined us, and we were enjoying a sunny, summer Saturday afternoon when a muffled announcement came over the speakers: “We apologize for the inconvenience, but the pool will be closing for the rest of the day. Please exit the pool area immediately.”
Since there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the announcement made no sense. Fortunately, one of the teenager lifeguards was my neighbor, so I asked her what was happening.
Apparently, there was a dispute between management and the lifeguards. The lifeguards were insisting that the chemical levels in the pool weren’t safe, and they were walking off the job. With no lifeguards, the pool had to close. As other people packed up their towels and exited in mass, my mother and I decided there was no hurry and waited by the baby pool until the crowd cleared.
Just as we were finally leaving, a news van pulled into the parking lot. Since very few swimmers were left and I had a cute baby in my arms, the female reporter immediately zeroed in on me.
“Can I ask you a few questions?” she inquired breathlessly as she shoved a microphone in my face.
I agreed, and she began peppering me with questions about unsafe chemicals in the pool. Since I wasn’t really concerned and saw no reason to panic, I carefully avoided her efforts to bait me into saying anything that blew the situation out of proportion. She was obviously getting frustrated that my answers weren’t heightening the drama. Finally, she asked, “Aren’t you concerned about the health of your baby?”
I stepped into her trap when I answered, “Of course I’m concerned about the health of my baby, I just don’t think this particular situation is going to harm her.”
A few hours later, I turned on the television news to see a lead story about how panicked parents evacuated a local pool. The story featured a carefully edited clip of me holding my daughter and saying, “I’m concerned about the health of my baby.”
I was mortified.
For the rest of the weekend, the clip played over and over again during news promos and broadcasts. My embarrassment grew when further investigation revealed that the chemical levels were fine, and that the situation had been overblown by a handful of teenage lifeguards.
For days, I was teased, even though I tried to explain that I had NOT panicked.
Years later, this story is rather funny, but it is also a cautionary tale.
Drama and conflict can be used as marketing tools and political weapons. And yes, some reporters take words out of context to create the story they want. This is especially true during an election year. No one should accept a few words at face value. We all need to do our research, determine what message was actually intended and take time to learn all the facts before making judgments and leaping to conclusions.
Take the paragraph above. Someone could easily turn it into a sound bite: Trina Bartlett says “reporters take words out of context to create the story they want.” That would likely stir up trouble with my husband of 19 years as well as my friends in the news industry, who all do their best to maintain journalistic integrity.
The problem is too many people prefer hearing words that support their own beliefs rather than knowing the truth, and many media sources have lost the once distinct line between news and opinion. Unfortunately, many people can’t tell the difference.
Every time someone spreads false information or shares quotes that have been taken out of context, the collective integrity and intelligence of our country drops.
And yes, I would love for someone to sound bite that.
How I’d Shake Up the Presidential Debates
This Wednesday, when President Barack Obama and former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney square off in the first in a series of three debates, I’ll be watching for entertainment purposes only.
Despite all the hype, I have absolutely no expectation that anything either candidate says will sway my opinion. They will both be so scripted, so practiced and so focused on performing that their potential to impact my life will seem irrelevant. And even after they stop talking, the pundits will step in to add their spin.
The debates, like so many other events that used to be newsworthy, have become staged productions with limited genuine content.
What I need is honesty. I don’t need platitudes or great sound bites. I need heartfelt discussion and genuine opinions.
If only I were in charge of the debates.
If I were, both candidates would be injected with truth serum before they could answer even one question. I’d also be asking my own questions. I already have a list:
1. If your household income were $50,502 (the median household income in the United States in 2011), describe how you would budget your money to pay for housing and health care, ensure your children received an excellence education and save for emergencies.
2. Describe a situation when you “pulled yourself up by your bootstraps” when the odds were against you, if anyone helped you and what resources you used.
3. Who really influences your political decisions?
4. Do you think there are deserving and undeserving people? If you think there are undeserving people, who are they?
5. What is the biggest lie you or your party has told about the other candidate?
6. What do you think are the biggest differences between men and women? (The ability to give birth doesn’t count.)
7. How would you ensure that every child in America actually received a comparable education?
8. Describe what’s wrong with Congress and how you would attempt to fix it.
9. Describe your understanding of a typical week for an average American.
10. Why do you really want to be President of the United States?
I realize that my questions aren’t particularly politically savvy or intellectually stimulating, but when answered truthfully, they would definitely shine light on which candidate could best lead America.
The Backside of a Bull and a Garden Full of Rodents
I had an unexpected epiphany after spending time with a bronze bull and a garden full of rodents in the financial district of New York City last month.
The moment came at the end of a long weekend celebrating my daughter’s upcoming birthday. She, her best friend, her best friend’s mother and I packed a lot into 48 hours. By Sunday morning, when we were exploring Lower Manhattan, we had slowed considerably.
The city, on the other hand, wasn’t slowing down at all. People crowded narrow sidewalks under the watchful eyes of police officers on every corner. While the officers graciously responded to requests for photos with tourists, their ability to give good directions was questionable.
Despite their help, we were finally able to locate the Charging Bull on Wall Street. Since the bull had never been on my list of sites to see, I hadn’t expected the frenzy of people mobbing it for photos. Many were lined up behind the bull to touch its anatomically correct underside for good luck.
The eleven-foot-tall bronze sculpture is supposed to symbolize aggressive financial optimism and prosperity. Last year, when the Occupy Wall Street protests began, metal gates were set up around the bull to prevent it from harm. Now, the public can once again touch it, but judging by the police presence, there’s still concern about the safety of the more than 7,000 pound bull.
Personally, I think the concern about vandalism is a bit misplaced. I’m more worried about the almost worship-like reverence people demonstrate for an icon that represents an industry focused more on the value of money than the value of people.
Don’t get me wrong. I like money. I just think that, as a society, we’re too fixated on who has it and who doesn’t.
To me, the bull represents a culture rooted in money and the immense appeal that has. But when people go to great lengths to touch that lifestyle, they may miss seeing what’s really going on around them.
For example, just feet from the Charging Bull, there’s a garden full of rodents living off the crumbs of others. The mice live among the vivid red flowers in the circular garden around the fountain in Bowling Green Park where we ate our lunch.
What seemed like a quiet public garden was actually teaming with dozens, if not hundreds, of mice. When bits of bread, meat, tomatoes and even cucumbers dropped, they would scurry out from under the blossoms, grab their feast then rush back for cover.
Many of the people intent on enjoying the beautiful, late morning sunshine didn’t even notice the mice. Others were completely disgusted by them. No one wanted to touch them, and very few people wanted to feed them.
But my daughter and I were fascinated.
Although seemingly dependent on others for their livelihood, the mice certainly weren’t lazy. In fact, the were quite industrious. And even when vying for the same crumbs, they seemed to respect each other’s efforts.
That’s when I had my epiphany.
The mice represent all the low-income people who live and work right alongside those who are more financially secure and influential. They represent all those people on Wall Street who clean bathrooms and pick up trash instead of buying and selling stocks and bonds.
And even though they live in the shadow of a bull that people fondle for good luck, they also represent a great deal of dignity.
People Are Not Measuring Devices
I’ve been feeling rather sorry for Condoleezza Rice lately, and my sympathy has nothing to do with the fact that she will be forever associated with the George W. Bush administration.
I feel sorry for her because so many people want to turn her into a measuring device.
After her speech this past Wednesday at the Republican National Convention, the rhetoric started:
“How can the Democrats claim there is a war on women? Condoleezza Rice proves that’s just propaganda manufactured by liberals who are pandering for women’s votes.”
“Condoleezza Rice demonstrates that any woman can succeed if, instead of relying on the government, she just applies herself.”
While I take issue with those statements, I have no problem with the woman who inspired them. I admire Condoleezza Rice. She’s a smart, accomplished and successful woman. Even though I may not always agree with her politics, I do believe she is a fantastic role model for young woman across our nation.
I just don’t believe that she’s a yardstick .
The notion that all women should measure themselves against Condoleezza Rice, or any other woman, is ridiculous and damaging.
I’ve spent most of my life trying to break my innate tendency to compare myself to other women. I’ve compared my looks, my body, my talents, my personality, my lifestyle and my parenting skills to others. Instead of embracing my unique blend of strengths, weaknesses, quirks and experiences, I simply saw my flaws and failures. I don’t want that for my daughter or for any other female. And I don’t want them to judge women who don’t possess the talent, intelligence or opportunities to achieve what others may define as success.
Yet they are hearing that, because some women have reached the top, all others have to do is simply “try harder.”
That was certainly the message from those who opposed the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act.
If only working hard were a guarantee of an adequate paycheck and the appropriate recognition. In reality, the workplace is a harsh and very unfair place. I’ve worked hard only to watch those who didn’t zoom right by me. I’ve seen pretty women take advantage of their assets and maneuver their way past others into better jobs and higher paychecks. And I’ve seen the “good old boy” network benefit those who already had the advantage.
While great strides have been made for women in the workplace, the dollars still tell the story. In 2010, the U.S. Census American Factfinder indicates that 17.9% of families with children were living below the poverty level. That number jumped to 39.6 for families with a female head of household. Despite the increase in the number of men who are taking on active parenting and caregiving roles, nothing will ever change the fact that women are the ones who get pregnant and give birth. And now, their ability to even make decisions about that has been under fire by people such as Missouri Congressman Todd Akin, who doesn’t even understand the biology of conception.
Condoleezza Rice has never married nor had children. I have no idea–nor is it any of my business– whether this was a conscious decision or just the result of the many choices she made throughout her life. I do know that she never had to make arrangements for child care, leave work early to pick up her child at school or miss important meetings when a child was sick.
And I’ve never heard anyone claim that she was an underachiever or compare her to women who have careers and children.
But maybe that’s because some yardsticks are defective and only measure what the user wants them to show.
The Insanity of All This Violence is Driving Me Crazy
Just over two weeks ago, while families gathered to watch Fourth of July fireworks at a park less than a mile from my home, a gun was fired. In addition to shooting the intended victim, the gunman also shot and injured an eight year-old girl.
Just two days ago, a man opened fire in a crowded movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, He killed 12 people and injured dozens more.
While one incident was right down the street and the other was across the country, my initial reaction to both was the same. I wanted to hug my children and thank God they were safe. And then I wanted to scream about the insanity of it all: “Why does such senseless violence keep occurring and, even worse, why is it creeping into my world?”
In “my world,” the only violence we ever witness is in the form of entertainment: on television, in the movies and in video games. It’s not a place where people have to fear actual violence.
In “my world,” safe neighborhoods are easily defined, and we avoid violence by avoiding unsafe locations. It’s not a place where my daughter’s friends tell her “that shooting at the park was in my backyard.”
In “my world,” guns are used for hunting animals and shooting targets – not for shooting people. It’s not a place where people use violence to resolve a dispute or share their rage with the world.
In “my world,” when a horrible crime does occur, we rally around and pray for the victims and their families. It’s not a place where, only hours after a shooting, we try to turn a tragic event into a political advantage.
But I’ve come to realize that “my world” is a complete fantasy, but it’s a fantasy I also want my children to believe.
On July 5, I was driving by the park where the shooting had occurred only hours before. My daughter, sitting in the passenger seat, noticed all the people picnicking and swimming and asked “why are those people even at that park? Don’t they know it’s dangerous.?”
She was talking about a park that she has walked to and played in hundreds of times: a park where I walk my dog every day: a park that is the gathering place for most community events in my town.
And so, I told her that the shooting was an isolated incident and she shouldn’t worry or avoid the park.
What I didn’t tell her was that if we tried to avoid every place where there’s been gun violence, our options would be very limited. At the time, movie theaters weren’t even on my radar.
But theaters are creeping onto my worry list now.
Just last night, while my daughter was performing in a local production of “The Wizard of Oz,” the alarms in the theater unexpectedly went off.
No one in the audience moved, and the youth on the stage continued to perform. We were probably all hoping the same thing: that the smoke on the stage had tripped a fire alarm. We were also probably all just a little worried about the same thing: that someone with a gun had entered the building.
The alarm was turned off, my concerns ebbed and I went back to the fantasy of “my world.” It’s actually a very nice place, and I like living there. If I didn’t, I’d go crazy with worry.
Sadly, I’m having to leave it more and more often. And until we stop arguing about solutions and actually start working together, “my world” never will be a reality.
Just So You Know 