Too young to be heroes

I worry about this generation of children who are experiencing PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) because they went to school. There have been over 30 school shootings in our country so far this year. While the media focuses on the body count to breathlessly report how many were killed or injured, they overlook the “collateral damage” – children who heard the dreaded announcement “active shooter” and “lockdown” and whose lives were transformed by witnessing violence, terror, and chaos.

 Those who experience life-threatening terror carry that with them forever. Our children have been forced to consider their mortality at too young an age. There are poignant stories of children and teenagers who texted their parents loving messages because they feared it would be their final communication. A young girl used a marker to write her mother’s name on her arm to help authorities identify her body. She survived that day, but carries with her the soul-shaking fear that comes from suddenly confronting death. No adult would choose that experience, yet it has become increasingly commonplace for our children. Every time a school shooting occurs, students across the country wonder – could we be next?  They are understandably afraid.

            Being a teenager in the 21st century is inherently filled with stress and anxiety. There are the normal teenage concerns like juggling overfilled schedules, studying, worrying about college and/or work, discerning one’s identity and sexuality, and sorting through the pressures of social media and online bullying. All of that would be more than enough.

But now teenagers have an additional pressure – the call to be a hero.

            We want to honor young men like Kendrick Castillo and Riley Howell who sacrificed their lives so their classmates could escape. But teenagers shouldn’t have to worry about being brave enough to face gunfire in order to attend high school or college. It isn’t their job to be heroes in order to obtain their education.

We adults aren’t doing our job. We should be protecting our children. Instead, we are allowing two complex issues – mental health services and gun control – defeat us.

            If children can be brave enough to go to school despite the real dangers that exist, we adults need to have the courage to make the necessary changes to provide a safer environment in which to grow and learn. We could start by providing every school with more social workers and counselors.  We cannot afford to ignore the urgent mental health needs of our young people.

We could start by banning automatic weapons.  Private citizens don’t need them.

I have no easy answers to offer and no quick-fixes to prescribe. But we cannot afford to be paralyzed into inaction. We need to work together to find solutions.

Our children need us.

I can’t watch anymore

I can’t watch any more. I dread turning on the news because I never know if there will be more pictures of flashing lights, tear-stained faces, people huddled with their arms around each other, more anguished parents and more heart-broken children.

I can’t listen any more as yet another mayor states (correctly) that this town is a nice town, a peaceable town, maybe the safest town in America.  And the mayor can’t imagine – how could anyone –  that something like this could happen here.

I can’t listen again as earnest reporters ask breathless and pointless questions. What was going through your mind? Can you describe how you were feeling? What was it like?

I can’t hear again how this gun or that piece of equipment was legally bought but illegally used. Or how this legally purchased weapon was illegally modified to increase its killing power.

I can’t listen to another devastated parent tell the world about their beloved child and just how loved, precious, and treasured that child is. I don’t even want to hear about the heroics of the first responders who bravely, incredibly, run toward gunfire instead of to safety. I can’t look at the pain etched on faces of police officers as they describe their colleague as a “cop’s cop.”

I don’t want to see another homemade memorial with flowers and candles and teddy bears, marking lives interrupted. And I can’t even listen to “Amazing Grace” (a hymn I used to love with its profoundly meaningful history) that has been taken over as the official mourning cry of a nation who doesn’t know how else to respond.  No matter how well sung, the song grates on my nerves as we mourn our dead but seem paralyzed as to other responses or solutions.

It happens again and again and again.

I am so tired.  I can’t watch. i can’t listen.

Because I know exactly how it will look.  I know precisely what people will say.

And I am so tired of it all.

The Rev. Eric Anderson wrote a song that expresses my thoughts beautifully. He writes, “I wrote this song after Las Vegas, and fifty-nine candles blazed across the front of our church. I recorded it after Parkland. I could have sung it again LAST WEEK. I don’t want to light another candle.”

I will think and I will pray.

I will work for gun control.

But I won’t watch those images any more.