“The March is today,” my wife reminded me. I looked around at everyone at the breakfast table: my eight year-old, my six year-old, my two year-old…my wife. Suddenly it occurred to me…yes, that march. The one in D.C. “The March for Our Lives.” The March organized by students from Parkland, Florida. Silently, I watched as my beautiful little children nibbled at their pancakes, totally oblivious to this horrendous reality, this reality now a mainstay in American headlines: school shootings.
I can recall a time when those two words sounded so foreign when juxtaposed. I mean “school” and “shooting” just didn’t…well, they just didn’t belong in the same sentence. Ever. Now the two words, well-acquainted with one another at this point, have over the past several years, welcomed a friend to their sentence: “Latest.” Because it just happens so often, too often.
And my children know nothing about this.
Their ignorance, I will admit, results from a purposeful and calculated shield my wife, our community, and I have decided to fabricate around them. The idea of educating them on this topic has yet to occur as appropriate to us.
And yet, they attend school. All three of them.
So what is the right answer? I took a small sip of my coffee.