And we’ve loved every moment we’ve gotten to see him. Yes, it’s a new experience sharing him with his gorgeous wife and my new ADORABLE, BRILLIANT, damn-near-edible six-year old grandson, but it hasn’t been hard. Isn’t that weird?
But with that sweet pumpkin of a child wrapped into our little family, I spent Friday furtively hiding my sniffling at work, because all I could see was his face as the numbers of dead babies kept climbing.
What sort of monster slaughters children? The littlest ones?
And it turns out it’s yet another twisted, inverted, sad little demon creature who did it.
Today I got to listen to Mike Lupica on ESPN’s Sports Reporters explain how the 2D Amendment was written for muskets and Carolyn McCarthy ~ God bless her and what she suffered through ~ relive her own heartache on Sunday Morning, crying out for justice for “the gun victims”.
How about, as Ace so aptly called it, the “Cuckoo for Fucking Cocoa Puffs” crazies’ victims (a post which seems to have vanished)? Having a fair amount of personal experience dealing with someone in the bi-polar/paranoid schizophrenic world, and, knowing they have every option, every advantage and every protection, and your average citizen has NONE in the interest of protecting said CfFCP individual’s “rights”, I could never blame the blunt instrument at their disposal when they go all whirling dervish. It could be words, a lawyer, a fist, a piece of wood, knife or a gun ~ no matter. Whatever was either first at hand in yet another uncontrolled, VIOLENT flash of anger, or most glamorous featured weapon in the fevered revenge schemes they weave in the tortured dreams in their heads. And sometimes whip themselves into the courage to play act on.
Dreams that society has stripped itself of the right to question and protect itself FROM. All I ever wanted was a way to protect myself and mine. One lunatic in the family ~ and yes, I said the L word ~ can hound you to the grave with no respite. Like a Zombie incapable of sustained reason, they recognize nothing ~ neither court orders nor “The End”, because the songs play over and over in their heads. A perpetually frantic “GroundHog Day” with no end to the rewind and hence no reason to control…anything. Caretakers live in a special Hell, God bless them. Walls of love and fear and suffering.
And then there are, as Drew says, the “simply not wired right”, who are STILL a DANGER and become more-so every day as they mature. Walls of love and fear and suffering as that child grows to adulthood, withdraws ~ or is withdrawn ~ from what little society he could cope with to begin with. He frightens people with his rages, hurting himself, others. And he grows into them, not out of them.
It’s not the guns.
It’s the crazy.