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September 14, 2004

Beslan

I have been haunted by the Beslan tragedy.

I haven't been sleeping well. I have been hugging and snuggling my son within an inch of his life. I have set up a little workstation in my office and I've been having him "work" next to me when CD is doing other things. I don't care what that does to my job.

I am becoming even more overprotective, and I'm probably doing all sorts of un-good things to my son's psyche. It won't last; it's just for now. Until I find a way to buffer myself from this reality, and believe that it won't happen here. That it can't happen here.

I've done it before. Columbine. 9/11. I've seen the horrors before, and been afraid, and found a way to find again a sense of safety - real or imagined - in my little world.

Soon, I will once again blithely bring my son to the little schoolroom with the aquarium full of goldfish and the clock that tweets the hour and believe he is in a safe place.

But for now, I am haunted by adults who plan to harm children. I keep thinking about how it wasn't one screwed up homicidal sonofabitch that accidentally killed some kids. I keep thinking that these adults, these holy warriors, planned it. Looked through lens of a weapon and saw chubby cheeked little faces, and felt vindicated in squeezing the trigger.

I am nauseated with confusion. What cause is more important than the moral imperative as a species to nurture and protect the next generation to be better than ourselves?

How do you deny humanity and target the most innocent, most vulnerable amongst us?

I keep thinking, those kids. Those frightened kids.

Kids who believed in fairies and superheroes. Kids who believed that mommy kisses magically make hurts all better. Kids who believed that monsters could live under the bed. And then the monsters came into their classrooms and tortured them And the monsters looked like adults - the kind that checked their teeth at the dentist's office or coached their football teams.

Kids who died, after suffering hours of pain and fear and learning that their protectors - teachers and parents - were helpless to save them.

I have been haunted by Beslan.

How? When did killing children - deliberately, painfully - become a group activity aimed at any purpose? When did this become our world? I thought 9/11 was the depths of depravity, and now I no longer have the imagination to know how low we will go.

I have been haunted by Beslan.

I am afraid.

10 Comments:


Jim said...

Me too. We live in a neighborhood where everybody watches everybody's kids. They play here, next door, down the street and we parents just keep a general eye around for the gang of children.

We used to, anyway. Now the kids next door check in with their mom a couple times a day, our kids don't go more than a house either way and we've all gone over the no talking to strangers rule again.



9:13:45 PM
 



Anna said...

I'm afraid too. All the time. Before Breslan. That only makes it worse. Actually, every day and every news item and the fact that it's another day with even _more_ love for my child make it worse. I wonder how I'll have the courage to let my son go anywhere in this world.



10:05:25 PM
 



Anna said...

meant to say also that this was a beeautiful, eloquent post.



10:05:57 PM
 



NotDonnaReed said...

You said it perfectly. There is nothing more important than our moral imperative to take care of children -- any children, not just our own. The people who perpetrated that disaster were psychopaths, vile criminals, and nothing more.



7:50:46 AM
 



Jenny said...

My thoughts exactly. Thank you for this incredibly moving post.



1:32:13 PM
 



Tammy said...

You have put my feelings into words, and you have done it well. What an excellent piece of writing! I'm torn between crying due to the topic, and wanting to show this post to my English class as an example of what I expect from them!



4:58:56 PM
 



Rude Cactus said...

These things should haunt all of us. What we see in events such as these are the ultimate depths to which desperate people can sink. Sadly I think there's always going to be some desperation in the world making it very hard to stop things like these from happening again. There are no easy answers.



6:26:08 AM
 



Beth said...

Wow. Thanks for saying that.



10:09:35 AM
 



kalisah said...

I've gotten to where I can hardly watch the news anymore. If I do, I'm afraid that I will become a paranoid hermit and never leave my home and never let my child out of my sight. And I can't live like that. So I have to turn a blind eye or it will eat me up inside.

I have to believe that there are not millions of terrorists out there waiting to kill us all. I have to believe that it only happens occasionally and the chances of it happening to me & mine are slim to none. I have to go on living.

So I try not to dwell on these things. I try not to watch the news. I avoid talking about it. I avoid feeling it. If I ignore it, maybe it won't be true.

That being said, if I were to recognize my feelings on this, it would be exactly what you said.

Thanks for saying it.



5:43:41 PM
 



Helen said...

God, I have been too. Especially about this gorgeous little 6-year-old girl who ran back in the building to find her mother, then the building blew up.

The little girl has been found alive.

I wept like a baby reading that.

And the mother who had to choose between her children? I was a wreck, I can't imagine how she felt. It all hurts so much, and I don't even have children.



2:09:23 AM
 



Post a Comment



Posted by Elizabeth at 01:23 AM | Comments (0)

August 17, 2004

Dear Paul Mahoney

Dear Paul Mahoney,

I bet you're surprised to see your real name on the internet. True, I usually follow my own rat rule in these things, which can be summed up in the words "first, do no harm".

The thing is, they are not releasing the name of the bus driver who abandoned the little girl on the side of a road. They released the name of the little girl, sure. Branded her a victim for life. No harm there.

Well, I gave that some thought. And I realized, I could counter the dark corner of secrecy by outing YOU. I hope you don't mind.

You are a real person, and you did something noble at an age when nobility and kindness are almost out of reach. I thought that deserved the credit of your own name.

You won't know me by this name. So let me help you. You went to Jr. High school in Fairfield County, Connecticut during the late 70's. Your house was second to the end of a long bus route, kind of in the woods, and for the last 15 minutes each day it was just you and me.

You were popular. You looked like a young Paul McCartney, a little. You were comfortable in your skin, with a quick sense of humor and a big heart. You were known for being a flirt, but a good guy. You were into music, and as soon as the bus was a little emptied you'd convince the bus driver to turn up the radio.

I thought you were the coolest person I knew.

Conversely, I was pretty beat up. The kids bullied me something fierce for a while. Over the months, it softened to a dull roar; I made a few friends and had someone to each lunch with.

But I hated school, Paul. Counted the days in between the holidays.

At the beginning of the year, you were strictly a "back of the bus" guy and I was at the front. I would curl up behind the bus driver for safety. You'd expand, somehow. Taking up the entire bench seat with your arms and legs and white smile.

One day, in the crisp end of autumn, you yelled to me. It took you a week to convince me that it was all right for me to move to the back of the bus once it was just us and the driver.

You were a bit of the firefly, you liked the attention. You liked having someone to talk to.

You made me laugh.

I had girls in my life. Neighbors, cousins, girlfriends at school. I'd had crushes. But you were the first guy to ever hold a conversation with me without your mother forcing the relationship.

Did I mention you made me laugh, Paul?

You used to use your hands to tell the stories. I never saw so much happy personality tied up in so much testosterone before.

I wrote about you in my diary. Then I destroyed the pages because I had no privacy back then. But I didn't forget your name.

One day, in the spring, someone had really gotten to me. I couldn't face you, because I was crying. Huddled behind that chain-smoking bus driver, staring doggedly out a window that only opened from on top, and pretending not to notice that my cheeks were chapped. And wet.

You tapped me on the shoulder, and I still couldn't face you.

You'd moved. To the front of the bus. For me. And it only made things worse.

You said "Come on, now".

You said "What's wrong?"

You sat behind me. Until it was time for you to get off.

The next morning, you got on. You took my hand and led me to the back of the bus. You sat me against the window and took the aisle. And as the stops piled up, and disbelieving kids punched your shoulder, and you didn't move from my side until we got to school.

Then you silently exited, melding into your crowd.

So for a few weeks until school ended, I sat at the back. Everyday. With you.

No one said a word. That was a lot of power you had in the Darwinian ooze of adolescent political structure.

Why were you so kind? I guess it doesn't matter anymore but at the time, it mattered a lot. It was a domino that got knocked in the right direction, and my life was better for it.

The last day of school, you squeezed my hand and didn't look back. You said goodbye to the driver. I never knew what happened to you. I always kind of wondered.

Dear Paul Mahoney,

You were the only good thing that ever happened to me on a bus.

I hope you're having a splendid life.

Thank you.




11 Comments:





Anonymous said...

That knocked my breath out it was so lovely.

Thanks for making my morning, babe.

//Helen, V.P. of MAS



3:39:42 AM
 



Anonymous said...

That was equisitely beautiful. It moved me very much. Thanks for writing about it. That must have been a terribly painful time and Paul is my hero now, too.

It also made me recall a time when I did something similar, in 2d grade, for a new kid who moved in down the street from me. Andrew was in my year at school and he was gawky and being teased a lot. So I threatened to beat up his whole class one day while the class was waiting to be let into the classroom. At the time they believed I could do it and they left Andrew alone. I had forgotten all about that until your story reminded me.

-RP
randompensees.mu.nu



5:54:14 AM
 



Sexy Soccamom said...

That was beautiful and I am literally crying. I dearly hope Paul sees this and although I've no doubt that he was aware that he did you a kindness back then, sometimes people don't realize how deeply they have touched someone. Heck, not everyone even gets the chance or takes the chance to do such a lasting kindness.
Paul, you are a hero in my book too.



6:48:08 AM
 



Elizabeth said...

Thank y'all for seeing Paul the way I do. I just pray he kept his easy way in the world and big heart and went on to great things...



8:10:13 AM
 



Elizabeth said...

RP -

I think, wherever he is, Andrew probably feels the same way about you that I do about Paul.

:)
Thank you.



8:17:43 AM
 



Michele said...

You made me cry!

Paul Mahoeny we love you!!



8:38:51 AM
 



Jim said...

Wow. I wish I was Paul Mahoney just so I could do that for somebody.

What a wonderful story, Elizabeth. :-)



10:59:56 AM
 



NotDonnaReed said...

That is a great story, beautifully told. You should submit it to a magazine.



11:12:37 AM
 



Frumdad said...

Well, it seems that Paul is doing pretty well for himself, in a karmicly appropriate turn.

Turns out he's a law professor, an account manager, a Ph.D. in Molecular Biology, and a Chief Petty Officer in the Royal Navy. And that's only the first bunch of hits.

Huzzah, Paul!



12:08:00 PM
 



Anonymous said...

Lovely post that brought a tear to my eye. I also hope that life has treated Paul Mahoney as well as he treated you.



4:49:39 PM
 



Kym said...

Great post!!!



10:11:14 PM
 



Posted by Elizabeth at 07:34 AM | Comments (1)
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