In 1999, Columbine took every news station. It took over discussion times in class, it took over family talks. I started to pay more attention to people in the halls, I started talking to anyone that claimed they were angry with the world.
December 2000, my nephew died of cancer. I learned that life can reach out to others, he was three years old and the church was packed for his funeral.
September 11, 2001 was on every channel. Everyone went on and on about how terrible it was. I started to worry about the state of the world.
December 2001, my sister died of a blood clot. I saw that people can make a difference to one person in seven months. My sister had taught one year a school, walking out of the funeral I saw a boy from her class fall to his knees and retch in tears.
October 31, 2003 while at a school rally a kid in the stands lit up on fire. He was in a ghillie-suit, and another boy thought he look like pot and flicked his lighter. Soon after my best friend was moved to a private school, I was left to walk the halls alone.
Throughout 2003 and 2004 bomb threats and evacuations cut into the learning curriculum.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
Those mini-vignettes with the dropdead endings are very stylish, very assertive and impressive.
But the last one does not work--that's the only one that doesn't. Give that a second look.
Re Last grif:
Throughout 2003 and 2004 bomb threats took over the school. People walking in the halls during class became potential gunman. During class I would imagine scenarios of talking down a gunman or fighting the gun out of their hands. I had seen the look in a mother's eye after losing a child. Good, bad or spoiled rotten each student was someone's child.
Yeah, I like this new version--very slick.
Talk about fantasies of dealing with gunmen--I picture summoning up every instance in 63 years of living when I was angry but unable to express the anger and imagine putting all that anger to work for three seconds. I pick up a chair and split the skull of the gunman, his brains spilling and splatting on the classroom floor linoleum.
Post a Comment