There Ought To Be A Law

I have spent the last few days in a dark gray haze. Dozens of Americans have died as a result of mass shootings in the past week. What is perhaps most terrifying to me is the fact that by the time this blog reaches you, that total could be higher. My wife and I drove down highway 101 to visit our son, and passed by Gilroy, California. I mentioned that this city, renowned for its annual Garlic Festival, was now joining an ever-expanding map of towns in the United States that have experienced a mass shooting.
Then there was El Paso, Texas.
And Dayton, Ohio.
Assault weapons used to kill civilians.
I was angry. Which I reminded myself was a secondary emotion. Anger tends to fall quickly on the heels of something like fear or sadness. I was sad. I was afraid. That's how I became angry. And now that I was there, I wanted to do something. So I called my members of Congress. I told them I wanted them to ban assault weapons. You can do this too. I don't require you to do any such thing, but if you're sad and afraid, or angry you can avail yourself of this option. Your senators and representatives are the ones who make laws. They could be encouraged to do their job, specifically to make laws that might save American lives. Like the opioid crisis, which has a lot of pending state and federal legislation designed to keep Americans from dying.
Because that's what lawmakers ought to be doing. Making laws that keep Americans from dying. Because they are not currently doing that. At least as far as that assault weapons ban goes. This isn't about home protection or hunting. This is about keeping killing machines out of the hands of people who would use them for their expressed purpose. The assertion that has been made far too many times that somehow American's Constitutional Rights would be trampled because these weapons of war should be used for that purpose and that purpose only is tripe. Garbage. Rubbish.
There's that angry part again.
Because I'm terribly sad. And afraid. I would like some help. I would like your help. Before more Americans die.

The Garden

"By the time we got to Woodstock, we were half a million strong." - Crosby, Stills and Nash
If you're planning on wandering on up to Yasgur's farm to join up in a rock and roll band a few days from now, make sure to buy your tickets online and to remember your essentials: Sunscreen, plenty of water, your photo ID, and a tarp of some kind. That last one may not seem necessary, but it kind of fills in the spot where "towel" sits for Galaxy Hitchhikers. Keep out the rain or sun. Wrap it around you. Lay down on it. Use it for a slip and slide. Trade it for drugs.
Sorry. Did I say that last one out loud? Fifty years after the fact, would it be worth bringing up the somewhat rampant use of drugs all that stardust and billion year old carbon? Illegal at the time, marijuana smoke filled the air while various versions of LSD was passed around as if it were not the Schedule One drug it had only recently become. In this sea of humanity over three days of peace and music, frequent announcements were made from the stage for all to hear: "To get back to the warning that I’ve received, you might take it with however many grains of salt you wish, that the brown acid that is circulating around us is not specifically too good. It's suggested that you do stay away from that. Of course it’s your own trip, so be my guest. But please be advised that there’s a warning on that one, okay?"
Not specifically too good. That's the kind of warning that you could make to a throng of hippies and it would still be cool. The fact that the gates had long since been torn down and the anticipated crowd of two hundred thousand became that legendary half a million. Those tickets were eighteen dollars when purchased in advance, twenty-four at the site. Or free if you just wandered in barefoot. With or without your tarp. 
The good news is that someone will probably plug in and play somewhere in upstate New York on or around August 16. The bad news is that the big hullabaloo, Woodstock 50, was cancelled. Apparently there was not enough peace and music to make it worthwhile.
Or enough drugs. 
Or enough money. 
Mostly the money.
Which is pretty much everyone's drug of choice, these days. 
"We are caught in the devils bargain
And we got to get ourselves back to the garden"

Aversion

My wife and I spent a few days away from our home this summer, inspiring her to make the delusional suggestion that we limit our screen time. When we were away from our habitual ruts and remote controls, we connected to one another more readily.
Okay, good point, but what about the dozen, if not dozens, of people anxiously awaiting my appearance on Al Gore's Internet? What about all that TV that needs watching? Does she think The Big Bang Theory reruns will watch themselves?
Here's the worst part: I'm an elementary school teacher, and one of the discussions we regularly have with our students is how much time they spend in front of a screen of any size or shape. Do you watch TV at night when you go home from school? I do. Do you play video games after dinner? I do. Do you use your phone to watch videos and send text messages? I do.
I'm the computer teacher. Am I supposed to tell my students that they should turn off the power and walk out into the bright sunshine, ignoring all those amazing web sited to which I have so carefully introduced them?
Some more confession: I used to spend summers in a cabin without electricity and no telephone. The screens that I paid attention to were the ones on our front door that let the breeze come in and kept hte flies out. I read a ton of books back in those days. It was part of what made me such a clever kid. So precocious that I read Michael Crichton's The Andromeda Strain before I entered the fourth grade. I exercised my imagination by listening to CBS's Radio Mystery Theater when the lights went out. Who needs TV?
Turns out, I did. That's where all the movies were. All the game shows. All the sitcoms. All the things that eventually filled my head with things other than literature and the theater of the mind. Yes, I still wax rhapsodic for those days when I would go for days without encountering a television. I did not own my own computer until I was over the age of thirty. There are still days that go by when I don't even turn my cell phone on. Maybe because I secretly yearn for those days when I didn't need an electronic leash or babysitter.
But now this is where I read. This is where I write. And while I'm here, I might stop and watch a video or two. There's so much to be found, all but leaping from this screen in front of me. So you'd like to make a commitment to limit the moments I spend in front of this machine, or any other device with words and pictures and sound?
It's almost too terrifying to contemplate. At least that's what I read online.

Forever And A Day

Looking east from the window of our motel room, I watched the fog burn off. It reminded me of all those years ago when I woke up in this bed which I slept as a child. I was no longer a child. I was a grownup, thirty-one years old. I was ready to head out into the world as an adult. By the end of the day I would be married.
By every logical measure, this was forever ago. I made that promise, so forever it will be. From time to time, I confront those ideas of always and never and they frighten me. They are the ones that put a crimp in this hose that goes on forever. They are the words that mean the brakes have come on, sharply.
There were no breaks back then. Full speed ahead, into the abyss. If I knew then what I know now, I might have whispered into my own ear: Listen. Those people surrounding you on this hillside are your support. There are examples of family and friendship and love and trust. Take them with you in your heart. Take them with you when things are tough. When it gets late at night remember that meadow full of people dancing. Glasses raised, toasts and pronouncements made. I live each day in the forever that those people imagined for us.
Me and my wife.
How could I have possibly known back then what forever was? When the morning came and the clouds sat there, so quiet and still. When I got dressed and drove to the mountains where I would make all kinds of promises that would lead me to the brink of eternity, what was going through my head?
I don't remember anymore. What I thought back then were the thoughts of a single man. A warehouse manager. Not a teacher. Not a father. Not a husband. Plenty of my friends had embarked on this voyage before me. How hard could it be?
As hard and as rewarding and as sad and joyful as anything I had ever endeavored to do. I had no way of knowing what that forever was going to feel like. But I wanted to find out. And now the fog has lifted, and another day begins. Heart full and eyes wide open. Happy to have taken that step into the mist.

Some Words I Can Dance To Or A Melody That Rhymes

I don't walk around with a lyrics sheet. I don't have a teleprompter at my feet too remind me when I miss a word or two.
Nonetheless, I tend to sing along. I am one of those people. This is especially true when I am in the car alone. And, as it happens, when I am in the car with my family.
Oh, how they wish that I was not one of those people.
They don't tend to call me on it very often. I was asked, at a local production of Fiddler on the Roof, by my wife to stop singing along. Which I understand, for the most part. The most being that no one in that amphitheater paid to hear me sing all the parts. The sliver that hurt was the part where I had the joy in my heart and wanted to share it with everyone in full voice.
Not my best choice.
The best place for me to exercise this character trait (I did not refer to it as a defect) is at a Bruce Springsteen concert. Not one of those acoustic deals where I might be heard above the hushed reverence he often requires during such shows, but the great big E Street Band blowouts that seem to engender such behavior. I know all those words, studio and live versions, and I look forward to showing off this knowledge base to those around me. This is, of course, keeping in mind that most everyone else's attention is captured by the trained professionals on the stage whose amplified and rehearsed voices are pouring out over the arena diminishing most any chance for me to be heard.
Except for those closest to me: My wife and son.
They have pretty much surrendered to the idea that part of the ticket price includes dad making a spectacle of himself. And it is precisely at this moment that I should point out that the last time my son and I went to see Green Day, I actually laid out for a song or two, while he proceeded to show me just how familiar he was with the words and music of his favorite band.
But what of my wife? Well, she has her own version of this show. It doesn't tend to show up as often as the rest of ours. She likes to croon along with show tunes and folk rock from her childhood. It's always a welcome surprise when she lets loose.
Because it means I can sing along. s

Things Change

"Today, I met with a 12-year-old who was shot while in a bounce house. A grandmother mourning the loss of her 6-year-old grandson. This is America today -- the shootings continue. Loved ones are buried. Children are gunned down. And Congress does nothing."
"A guy tries to light his shoe on fire & 18 yrs later we still all take our shoes off through security. In that time there have been 37 MASS SHOOTINGS. And nothing. Not a single regulation."
The first quote was from California's governor, Gavin Newsom. The second was from comedian Sarah Silverman. I chose these because I am quickly running out of words to describe the indifference that continues to be shown in the aftermath of Americans being shot. Stephen Romero, the six year old referenced by Governor Newsom, is the current face of the tragedy we call The Second Amendment. Stephen had just celebrated his sixth birthday. At Legoland. He won't be going back. He won't be in first grade when school starts. He won't wake up early on Christmas morning, much to the everlasting annoyance of his parents. He won't be waking up.
And while we continue to have a "President" who simultaneously endorses those who are "tough on crime" and "protects the Second Amendment" while urging those in the line of fire to "be careful out there!" we continue to wait patiently for everyone to die.
"Sorry, our hands are tied," says Congress. "If it weren't for that darn Second Amendment, we'd jump right on that assault weapons ban. See, it's the Constitution and it can't be changed."
Wrong.
That's why they're called "amendments." We used to keep black people as slaves. We didn't used to let women vote. We used to want people to stop drinking. Then we said they could again. Things change. The Constitution of the United States has changed.
It needs to change.
Children are dying.
And it's our fault.
Responding to questions about selling the assault weapon to the shooter in Gilroy, the owner of Big Mike's Guns and Ammo declared on Facebook, “When I did see him, he was acting happy and showed no reasons for concern,” the post said. “I would never ever sell any firearm to anyone who acted wrong or looks associated with any bad group like white power. Everyone is my brother and sister and I am mourning for the families. Mike.” To be clear: The killer purchased his killing machine via Al Gore's Internet. The same series of tubes that allowed the killer to post pictures of the Gilroy Garlic Festival moments before he opened fire. 
Things change. 
It's time. 
It's way past time. 

A Very Special Episode

Part of the magic
is in the edit
We don't always see
or remember
What goes on
behind the scenes
Like any long-running
play or show
It helps to have a strong cast
of regulars
The ones you can depend on
when things begin to drag
But when things get tough
and smiles wear thin
It really helps to know
there's a backlog
All that good faith and love
stored up over the years
The details have become
trivia questions
"Do you remember the time?"
"Wasn't that they year when..."
Some of them are chestnuts
retold year after year
The pants were where?
The rings were where?
Cutting out those hiccups
shortchanges the story
We keep tuning in to see
how they get handled
Big problems become small
like the poet said
There is more laughter
than there are tears
That's part of the force
that makes it work
But most of all it's the story
that brings us back
That
and a really good editor.