When Will We Ever Learn?

wWill we ever look at a six-year-old the same way again? Will we ever feast our eyes on the child’s spontaneity and spunk without thinking of 20 kindred spirits? Twenty children caught up in their morning lessons: sounding out storybooks, counting beyond their fingers and toes, arts-and-crafting, singing seasonal songs.

Will we ever be able to keep ourselves from then snapping our mind’s eyes shut, contorting our faces into countenances of disgust and sorrow, as we recall the horror that invaded the world of of twenty first-graders at Sandy Hook Elementary School?

Will we remember to keep in our hearts the other children and teachers of Sandy Hook? Hundreds, besides the twenty children and five educators who lost their lives, who - every day, as survivors-  will relive the terror they felt as they crouched in hiding or ran to the firehouse for sanctuary.

Will we finally come to our senses about the lethal mix of guns and mental illness ?  In the last few days President Obama and former senator Joe Scarborough have  eloquently voiced the tipping point Sandy Hook has tragically brought the nation to, the President during the memorial service in Newtown Sunday night and the senator at the start of his morning show, Monday.

Will the rest of us then reopen our eyes to the statistics that have been mounting for far too long,? The numbers linking kids with guns ( listed below). Newtown's  gunman was only 20 years old.-a  troubled young person still living with his mother, whose life he took using her gun, before moving on to Sandy Hook Elementary School with her arsenal in hand.

KIDS AND GUNS: THE FACTS

Each year, there are 34,000 gun-related deaths in the U.S. How many of those deaths are children, and has that number increased in the last few years? Here are the facts.

Safety Expert Gavin de Becker has found in researching his books, The Gift of Fear and Protecting the Gift that:

• Everyday, about 75 American children are shot. Most recover –- 15 do not.
• The majority of fatal accidents involving a firearm occur in the home.
• Gunshot wounds are the single most common cause of death for women in the home, accounting for nearly half of all homicides and 42 percent of suicides.
• An adolescent is twice as likely to commit suicide if a gun is kept in the home.
• More teenage boys in America die from gunfire than from car accidents.
• Gunshot wounds are now the leading cause of death for teenage boys in America (white, African-American, urban, suburban).

Researchers at familyeducation.com have collected the following statistics on kids and guns:

• Twenty-nine percent of high-school boys have at least one firearm; most are intended for hunting and sporting purposes.
  Six percent say they carry a gun outside the home.
  The National Institute of Justice, 1998
• From 1980 to 1997, gun killings by young people 18 to 24 increased from about 5,000 to more than 7,500.
  During the same period, gun killings by people 25 and older fell by almost half, to about 5,000.
  The US Department of Justice
• There are about 60 million handguns in the United States.
  About 2 to 3 million new and used handguns are sold each year.
  US Senate Statistics
• Nearly 500 children and teenagers each year are killed in gun-related accidents.
  About 1,500 commit suicide.
  Nearly 7,000 violent crimes are committed each year by juveniles using guns they found in their own homes.
  Senator Herb Kohl, sponsor of the safety lock measure.
• In 1994, every day, 16 children age 19 and under were killed with guns and 64 were wounded in this country.
  National Center for Health and Statistics, 1996

Will we ever learn?

As Senseless as it Gets



Hartford Courant photo of Sandy Hook service

The Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting is about as senseless as senseless can get. After killing his mother at home the murderer travels to the school to deliberately target the kindergarten students.There is still a question as to his mother's connection to the school.

The more we hear about this horrific crime, the more incomprehensible it gets.  

Four trauma units were readied at Danbury hospital. Over 80 staff members waited for an expected influx of injured. Only a handful arrived. Most of the 28 fatalities (mostly children) had died at the scene.  

This all happened at a time when the parents of most early elementary school children worry more about challenges to their sons and daughters belief in Santa Claus, than their safety at school. Yet, less than two weeks before a Christian holiday that celebrates the birth of a Child, twenty Sandy Hook five-year-olds have been robbed of their lives. Their surviving schoolmates, stripped of their innocence.

The hurt will sting even more as the shock factor wears off and even as it begins to heal. As the feeling comes back we must start to try to make some sense of the senseless. Look deep into the most obvious causes of the tragic effects: troubled individuals, troubled families, troubled times and the too accessible means to act out one’s inner demons: guns. Ask ourselves how we can prevent mass killings of innocent lives, a crime that occurs more and more often.   

But for now, for this weekend, and through the weeks of this holy season that has turned to a mourning season for our nation, let us pray for the peaceful repose of the children and adults who lost their lives and for the comfort of those who loved them.    

Let it Snow, Let it Snow - My Way!

Snow that doesn’t stick is my kind of November snow. I think of it as confectionary sugar snow because most of it disappears, the way powdered sugar melts into a cake top that isn’t entirely cooled. After the cake loses its oven warmth, a light dusting – maybe through a pretty stencil – is just enough to perk up the presentation a bit . A case of less being more, like November snow.

My preferred dusting would work for skiers too. Even though little or no snow would have accumulated – outdoor temps would be cold enough to fill ski resorts with snowy trails.

Confectionary sugar snow eases me into the changing winter landscape. It reminds me that the view out my window is about to turn to monochromatic grays. That’s a pretty drastic change from summer’s multicolored gardens and fall-blazing trees. We try to brighten up the graying of city and countryside with a pop of holiday color here and there, but it takes a knack to keep the ornamentation from getting too kitschy, if you know what I mean.   

If I could plan the winter snow the way I plan out a course syllabus, I’d start with a (preseason) late November dusting followed by an inch or two, a week or so later. Just enough to cover errant oak leaves that continue to fall through the winter. Roads would still be passable  (like my course!). Make-up days would not have to be added on to the school calendar.

Christmas Eve – let it snow. There are carols in the air and the spirit of a blessed birth in our souls. Why not cover the outdoors  in a blanket as pure as the Christmas story as families nestle around fireplaces and into their warm beds?  Santa’s sleigh out-maneuvers  any weather. The rest of us can stay put. That is, if we are not essential  hospital or transportation workers. Added Christmas Blessings to them - every one.

Just after the holiday, most of us could make do with a Norman Rockwell kind of snowfall through late December. One that keeps the  landscape white, but the roads safe.  I like to think of that last week of the year as a designated “reading” week, up to – but not including New Year’s Eve.

January??? Wouldn’t mind a prolonged thaw while the mountains stay just frigid enough for snowmaking.  A true blue storm could pass through February's President’s weekend. A last hurrah for winter. Sort of a final exam on getting through the elements of accuweather.

Then I’m ready for an early Spring break from Winter's course.

If Mother Nature follows my syllabus , I'll give her an A+ !

Unconditional Thanks

In the late summer of 1988 my father was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. He was only 68. He had not felt well through the summer and recently had gone through a series of tests and x-rays. He and my mother drove straight to my house after receiving the terrible news at a doctor’s appointment.

Mom and Dad walked in. Both looked tired, Dad more drawn than Mom. We went into the family room where Dad sat on the couch and softly conveyed the unwelcome news. Then he looked me straight in the eye and said something I’ll never forget.

He said, “I’ve had a good life.” One of the bravest single sentences I have ever heard.

A month or so later, we all sat around my dining room table for my family’s annual Saturday-after-Thanksgiving visit, since it was impossible to be two places at once on the traditional holiday.   When Dad brought a forkful of food to his mouth, he looked noticeably older to me than that afternoon in my family room.

My mind involuntarily jumped ahead a year. I felt like Scrooge when he foresees a vacant seat at his family table except that, unlike Scrooge, I could not change the future by remedying my selfish ways. Yet, I realized  I could change my mindset on the future the way my Dad had done a few weeks ago. I forced myself to focus on the present and the  three generations of my family seated around my dining room table, feasting on manicotti and eggplant parmesan, our annual “Italian” Thanksgiving.

I learned to give unconditional thanks on that extended Thanksgiving holiday . I learned to put aside regrets and fears, To simply be thankful to be sitting at a table as full of food and family as possible. Thankful for having arrived on this day together, through whatever, and hopeful.

By the next Thanksgiving and subsequent Thanksgivings I also learned that my Dad (and other loved ones) could be two places at once on Thanksgiving Day.

Moms Who Write - Part Two

Back from attending an afternoon football game with my son (score at right!) and an evening spent with my daughter and grandson. Terrific day!

Back to finishing what I started a couple of days ago in “Moms Who Write. "

I was saying Moms who are self-employed writers have been experiencing the occupation’s plusses and minuses since home telephones put them in contact with “sources” and customers. So too have Father – Writers. I add the Dads as I suddenly remember the vigorous  grad school "meetings" I had one semester – via live-time email exchanges -- with a writing prof, while he worked from home, tending to his young daughter.

Back to novelist Anne Tyler, who decades ago revealed the unpredictable work schedule of the write-at-home parent. She recalled one March, when she was ready to block out a novel.

“But the children’s spring vacation began,” explained Tyler. After vacation the dog got worms. Tyler didn’t get back to writing (and even then, only in “patches”) until May, when three chapters competed with a washing machine repair, tree surgery, five Jehovah”s Witnesses, two Mormons, etc., etc. With her two children’s summer vacation about to start, she knew enough to put the novel away. “Close down” her mind, plant herbs, and play with the kids.

It’s a gift to be part of a profession that can accommodate up and down family times. I hope the next generation of young Mom-writers, whose blogs I read today, can learn to juggle the way Tyler did - and succeed.

Moms Who Write

 

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I’ve been reading a number of blogs lately, written by young mothers torn between their desire to write and their role as a parent. The conflict reminded me of when my (now adult) children were both under three and I was trying to juggle part-time freelance work for local and regional publications. Bulky, noisy personal computers (with next-to-nil memory capacities) were just starting to become home “appliances.” The Internet was pretty much a long, rudimentary, and vastly detoured route to information and communication (pre-easy search engine days). Yet, with a computer purchased at Railroad Savage (a commercially unsuccessful model made by the manufacturers of Royal typewriters) I was able to find and complete enough work to put off going back to full-time teaching until my son and daughter were students themselves.

The writing did not interfere with me spending time with my children. It allowed me to put aside full-time teaching for ten years and spend more time at home with them while still contributing some to the household income. Writing moms are fortunate to be able to work from home, set their own hours, and slow business matters down  when home issues must prevail.

 

I wish I could remember the name of the computer that failed in the mass market. I do remember using it to write an essay for the Connecticut Writing Project newsletter; a piece I dug out of a trunk in my hallway this afternoon.  (The search led to some pretty deep cleaning- never a bad thing!).

 

I find it interesting that my 25-year-old essay raises pretty much the same questions I’ve been reading on young writer-Moms' blogs. In it, I wonder how many articles a freelancing mom can brainstorm, research, and write, sharing her day with a toddler and baby.(The blog concept really hadn't come into everyday play yet).

 

Researching the essay, way back when, I found that the overwhelming majority of writers with children agreed family life actually widened their experiences. Novelist and short story writer Anne Tyler, in her early forties then, said that since she had children she had grown richer and deeper. “They may have slowed down my writing for awhile,” she said, “but when I did write, I had more of a self to speak from.” Tyler admits not much writing got done until her children started school. Even then, she said she had to put up “partitions” in her mind that separated her writer and mother roles. She spent a lot of time learning how to close either door when ordinary life intervened or it was time to start writing again. She also likened the process to being like a string she had to learn  to tighten and  loosen, whenever necessary.

 

 

A string I'm tightening myself - until I can finish this up in my next blog, for I'm off to see my son - who's a couple of hours away - and my daughter and grandson on the return trip. 

 

 

A Friend's Next Chapter

A decade ago I would not have come to know Irene, a recent virtual friend and colleague. That was long before I had any inkling I’d write a memoir, no less have it published. But through the last few years one choice led to another: the choice to enroll in an MFA program and focus my thesis on surviving my husband’s premature death, the choice to move from high school to college teaching, the choice to publish the memoir.

Enter Irene, just after Staying Alive: A Love Story became available on Amazon and bn.com. As the managing editor of an online company that reviews and promotes independently published books, she had unique expertise in an area I knew nothing about: marketing. Within weeks the book was reviewed and Irene wanted to interview me – on her radio show.  She’d tape our conversation over the phone, me in CT and she in TX.

It took no time to realize I was working with a smart woman committed to promoting quality books in a growing independent publishing market. Now I was being introduced to Irene, woman to woman. First she called “just to chat” and prepare me for the phenomena of long distance radio transmission. We spoke the way women of similar ilk speak, easily and familiarly. She liked that the book portrayed my children and me as survivors, not victims,. This conversation assured me I would feel comfortable with her in the ensuing taping.

Irene tempered the daunting task of selling myself. We stayed in contact. I wrote for her blogging authors’ site.

When Irene was diagnosed with cancer we talked again. She remembered the story of my own bout with kidney cancer shared in my memoir. Over long distance, she continued to encourage me, professionally, as I did my best to encourage her to wellness.

After a number of extreme treatments Irene was declared cancer free. I was elated. Yet, the elation vanished yesterday when I received sad news from her family. Though Irene appeared to have won a battle or two against the insipid disease, she ultimately lost the war that escalated through her body.

After my interview aired, friends remarked Irene and I sounded like long-time friends. I wish that could have been so. Yet my one-year association with this great gal from Texas has had a greater impact on me than many I have had– for years. I’m a better professional – and person – for having known her.

If I hadn't gotten to know Irene the way I did, I'd be inclined to say Rest in Peace about now. Yet, having come to know her vim and vigor in getting important work for writers and readers done, I'm going to go with Rest in Perpetual Purpose, Friend.    

CLICK HERE for my interview with Irene.

 

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