MY THINNING SKIN
Yes...
Image by Schwenn, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. ‡
“Toughen up! You are too thin-skinned”— the mantra we were taught growing up.
In my 8th decade, thinning skin is a physical reality. Paper cuts come way too often. Bruises are hard to keep at bay. And there is the thinning of the heart skin. I am now more sensitive to suffering in others— a good thing, in my view.
Wednesday was a particularly grief-ladened day. Early in the day, I reached out to suffering friends and relatives.
Then news broke of the mass shooting at Apalachee High School near Winder, Georgia.
Mass shootings in schools, centers of worship, and other public spaces are all too common. Apalachee’s horror will sadly be but a footnote in the media as another outrageous act of violence supercedes it.
With two grandchildren in high school, the news hit me hard. What were their feelings when the news reached them? My inability to protect them from adversity deepened my grief. I identified with the victims and their families. News reports often focus on the dead, but the horrible wounds inflicted by supersonic bullets from assault weapons are long lasting and we seldom hear about that. Those wounded in this attack will suffer physically and psychologically for many years. And the families of the dead and wounded? Well…
My old eyes need artificial tears. Even if I feel the pain of grief, the relief that weeping brings seldom comes nowadays.
Later that evening I finished reading Rabindranath Tagore: An Anthology, by Krishna Dutta and Andrew Robinson. Tagore wrote nearly 2500 songs in his lifetime, aside from short stories, novels, plays and poetry. His songs are musically beautiful, which is all I can appreciate not speaking Bengali. Some of his songs are on YouTube. I listened to them for a while, seeking solace. Then I went to Netflix looking for Bengali movies in the Tagore vein. What I found was as infected with sex and violence as American culture.
We can work for evil— or good. At this moment happiness may hide. Yet, the embers of joy remain, to be rekindled by faith and to keep hope alive.
May our skins never grow too thick.
Never. As I have said throughout all this, I might not be surprised, but I'll never NOT be shocked, Manuel.
The four year old was getting the first cast of the family that morning - a jungle-gym descent gone bad, leaving her strong, little arm with a fracture. I was on deck to deliver the six year old to the second day of first grade. With the 2 YO in the stroller, all went as clockwork - we waved to her as the line of happy first graders filed into the school building. Came home - to the news at Appalache and lost my breath. I had just watched not only my six year old grandling enter school - but hundreds of other little bodies anticipating a full day of friendship and learning in their respective classes. Flash. I watched her in my mind's eye walking into the building, looking over her shoulder for one more wave.
What happened at that high school should never happen. EVER. Vote your values.