Howl for it


Now it’s a remarkable thing when 20 children between the ages of 6 and 7 are murdered by a gunman as happened in Newtown, Connecticut, on December 14, 2012. It’s more remarkable still the defiant intransigence gun supporters can show in rejecting every subsequent call for sanity. They talk about their rights as if it was God and not man who granted them, and they invoke the Second Amendment with the same fervency Hollywood holy men waved their crosses in front of Dracula.

Whether on their own or through the National Rifle Association, they’ve used every excuse to argue not only that guns are not the issue, but even that there should be more guns. (I’m sure their rantings will make it into a Post of the Day soon enough.) So there really isn’t much to say. The medical examiner did report, however, that some of those tiny bodies were hit as many as 11 times.

A number of those children must have been blasted apart, although this is where a gun supporter interjects to talk semantics on what is and what is not that kind of bullet, and anyway you can always make your own in your basement, so don’t get any ideas, gun control freedom haters. Still, the magnitude of it—because you can’t help but try to comprehend the incomprehensible—gets me to wondering. Did it hurt? Could their still developing minds comprehend their last moments?

At that tender age their hands are soft, without the callouses and tension brought on by years. I think two or three or more of those children must have reached out for mommy and daddy to pick them up one more time. Those small hands must have gone slack and slick with blood, twitching, spasming.

My son is almost 3 years old, and tall enough to be mistaken for 4 or 5. I hold his hands in mine and marvel. He’s uncomprehending and I suppose that’s the way it should be.

We’re in Montreal for the holidays and we’ve discovered how much he enjoys his aunt’s piano. We’ll see about getting him lessons. For now he mostly smashes his palms down on the keys in a beautiful, atonal noise. We place our giant hands next to his and urge him to use just his fingers. Tomorrow we get to see what he does, where he goes and how he smiles.

But other than that there isn’t much to say. Everyone knows the gun supporters will not give. And so everyone knows it must happen again. It’s not that too many children have died in that nation with its attitude on self destruct. It’s that not enough of them have died. So what else is left for the people who love them but restless sleep with red-rimmed eyes and waking up at random in the night, consumed by brap?

We’ll brap and brap and brap and brap and brap and brap. …

Skinny Puppy – …Brap

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