Sorry honey, no anniversary gift for you.

So, I didn't make it. I didn't get the present done that I was going to give my husband for our twentieth wedding anniversary. It was probably doomed from the start. The fabulous, heartfelt, essentially free, thoughtful Pinterest project that I meant to start sooner, that I lost part of yesterday, that I probably need at least another toddler-occupied or free half-day to complete. 

There was a brief moment, when my laptop needed to be charged, that I engaged in the fantasy that I could take the project up a notch or two with a couple more supplies. I would offer up a trip to the park, and maybe lunch in exchange for just 15-20 minutes at the craft store. With luck, I would still be able to squeeze my project into shape in time. All I had to do was get the two of us dressed and our teeth brushed. Easy enough, right? That's exactly what I thought, too. I even tried to truly implement the fantastic two-choice approach a friend shared with me. 

"Do you want to try putting on your pants, or your socks?" I asked. She continued to teeter between her own two options--running around in circles making noises with her tongue, and climbing up onto the vanities in our master bath as I tried to wash my face.

I decided to offer up another set of choices. "Do you want to brush your teeth, or try putting on your socks?" Same results. 

There was no trip to the craft store. 

So, with a heavy sigh, I recalculated my to do list, and decided to make lunch and work on some housecleaning chores until the laptop power light was green again. As I looked at the disaster area which is our living room, I thought I would offer yet a third set of choices to my two-year-old.

"Do you want to pick up your toys, or put your books back on the shelf?" She chose a third option--watching me do both. I would wonder if she just doesn't fully grasp the concept, but it was only last night that she placed all of her bath toys neatly in their net, making sure to rinse each of them first, and to advise me that she was cleaning up her mess. 

We finished lunch. I surveyed the bits of food, the yogurt slathered ottoman, and two full bags of clean laundry waiting to be folded and put away. I winced.  And I looked at the clock. 'Ireally should try to get her to take a nap,' I thought, 'or she's not going to get one.'

I shouldn't be disappointed or surprised. And I suppose I'm really not surprised. Right now, it feels like there was never another story of my life. 

My husband is awesome. He will be satisfied with nothing. Sadly, that's exactly what he's getting. I wanted to do this one thing for him, because he works so hard for us. I stay at home. It always somehow seems weird to buy a gift for him, because my career as a stay-at-home mom isn't really that lucrative. I know all the arguments people might toss out about that, but somehow all the money we save on daycare, my fairly up-to-date housecleaning schedule, and all of the Target ninja saving skills I have developed just don't make me feel like it's equal. 

I also know that my husband would say that everything I accomplish keeping our daughter alive and thriving each day is enough. 

I love our little girl. She's a gift. She's amazing. She's funny. She's our version of perfect. But she's also two. And she also gets E-V-E-R-Y ounce of my energy, brain power, normal speaking tone of voice, logic and presence. 

The one person who lives with both of us, and knows the level of chaos, destruction, noise, and insanity I work with each day only gets scraps. 

She has infiltrated every single corner of our lives and our marriage. We quietly co-sleep--not wanting to be judged by our friends--because before we started, I was lucky to get four or five hours of sleep a night. I still nurse her to sleep at naps and bedtime, because I don't know how to get her to sleep any other way--and even that way is difficult most of the time. Every nap and bedtime is a battle. I have given her my waistline, our bookshelves, a cabinet in my kitchen, part of my pillow at night, and a million things in between. 

I can only imagine what sane people are thinking. No, we don't spend enough time together as a couple. Yes, I need more mom-friends. No, I don't get enough time for myself. Yes, I'm probably "doing it wrong." But I swear, either everyone is lying about how easy "doing it right" is, or we just have a willful sprite for a child. 

I know that I make it all sound awful. Sometimes, it is. Moments like this one--when I feel like there's too little of me to go around, even though I also realistically, or unrealistically feel like there should be plenty. When we can't  even have a five-minute conversation without her jumping in the middle of me and making it abundantly clear that she needs my undivided attention. When I can't squeeze a shower into the day. When she dumps everything I just put away. Those are the moments I am pretty sure I will lose that infinitesimal sliver of my shit that is left. 

But...she is the light of our life. We waited most of the last twenty years for her. And, of course, we love her more than anything. And when she rolls over in the wee small hours of the morning and says "Ah, Mommy." Or she says "snuggle?"  Or "I loves you, Mommy," it's pretty hard to stay irritated.

So, my dear husband, as I am sure that these words will reach you when she stops using you as a jungle gym, the gifts I have for you in this moment are my intentions, my acknowledgement of everything I don't give you every single day, my gratitude for everything you make possible, and my love.

Oh, and a promise. I know by date night Friday I will have that super duper, fantastic Pinterest gift done for you, but for now, you will have to settle for my tired, shredded, insane heart. 

Political promises, promises

So, today is Super Tuesday, and in many ways it could be one of the most important days of this year.

The political scene more closely resembles the gladiator fights of the Roman Coliseum than a civil debate about the issues truly affecting most of the American people. It has become a melee of horrifically hateful rhetoric that capitalizes on the fears and anger of those who have become so frustrated by the feeling that they work so hard, and either they don't feel they have enough, or they feel that others needing help don't work hard enough, and therefore don't deserve it. Many of these fearful, angry and frustrated people profess a powerful and deep Christian Faith, as well as a deep and abiding love of country.

There is an intense mistrust of government and politicians. People are tired of smiles and promises, and seem to prefer shouting, angry rhetoric and saber rattling. 

It's all working perfectly. Many of us have stopped watching or believing where the money goes, and--just as importantly--where the money backing our leaders comes from. 

We choose to believe people needing stop-gap assistance like food stamps or welfare are unwilling to work, are on drugs, and are just plain lazy. While there are people who happily suckle at the teat of our hard earned and forked away tax dollars, the majority are people who are legitimately struggling in spite of how hard they might be working. They are single parents who never expected to be. They are unqualified workers in low-paying jobs who may be working multiple jobs but still can't make all the ends meet.

We choose to believe that people working in low-paying jobs are somehow inferior to ourselves, and it's not our fault they aren't educated or skilled enough to work in a better paying job. We choose to believe they lack the ambition to obtain an education or skills that would allow them to earn more. The reality is that not everyone gets a scholarship to go to college or technical school. Not everyone can get enough financial aid to cover the skyrocketing costs of college. 

We choose to believe that people asking for a hand up--not a handout--just want a free ride on our dime.

We choose not to pay attention to where our money goes, and where the money backing our leaders comes from. 

People are angry that there are Americans "working the system" and getting our hard-earned dollars. But who are these Americans "working the system?"

Follow your dollars. Do you want billions to go to companies who become richer and richer while discouraging income growth among the lower and middle class? Do you want billions of dollars to go to individuals and companies who work tirelessly to ensure that they have to pay as little in taxes as possible--even to the point of hiding their money off shore? 

We're pissed about where our money goes, and we're pissed that the government keeps asking more from us, while providing less of what we want and need. But here's the thing--it takes money for roads to get repaired, it takes money for the power grid to be updated, it takes money to provide benefits to veterans and retirees. That money has to come from somewhere. Except it's not. 

We have spent the better (or worse) part of the last 15 years at war. War isn't free, but it is profitable to certain people--not you or me. We have allowed big banks to fill the coffers of our leadership in exchange for leniency and a blind eye to their greedy misdeeds. We have allowed so much in the name of free enterprise and national security. And we have used up all the dollars and more--only slowly reversing that trend in recent years.

Where is our money going? Where does the money backing our leaders come from? 

Many of us are fearful and angry. 

But some of us are afraid for the future of our children, our nation and our world. We are fearful that our kids won't find a way to afford an education and that if they do, they won't be able to find a job earning enough to make their ends meet and their dreams come true. We are fearful that the current climate of hateful rhetoric and discrimination will make our nation and our people less safe, and that we will, again, be viewed as the brash bully nation on the block. We are angry that our tax dollars pay for failed wars that have made us less safe. We are angry that people screaming for "smaller government" and "individual rights" are also trying to limit women's rights, the rights of the LGBT community, civil rights, and religious rights. We are angry that a large chunk of our government chooses, on a daily basis, not to do their job because--for whatever reason--they decline to recognize and accept the legitimacy of a twice-elected president. We are angry that that chunk of our government's actions put the functionality of our nation--at home, and abroad--in jeapordy on a regular basis.

While it is true that every politician promises things they cannot, or do not even intend to deliver, some of us want to hear promises that better reflect the needs of our people, and not the needs of big business, saber rattlers, and those who don't believe that everyone is entitled to the same rights. I would rather hear a candidate promise free college tuition, than hear one promise that they will "bomb the shit out of" anyone. I would rather hear a candidate promise income equality and an increase in wages that more closely aligns with the cost of living, than hear a candidate promise to cut education funding and Social Security. I would rather hear a candidate promise to take actions to prevent further destruction to our environment through science and innovation, than hear a candidate argue that the earth is flat, it was created by a shadowy wizard and that proven scientific facts are hogwash. I would rather hear a candidate recognize that we are already a great nation facing challenges to our core and our future, than to hear candidates unfoundedly, and mean-spiritedly declare that our nation is in shambles. I would rather hear the promises of a candidate who believes in the promise of every single American, regardless of color, religion, gender or their sexual orientation, than to hear a candidate feeding the fears and angers of folks who choose to ignore where the money goes, and where our leaders' financial support comes from. 

You see, promises are made to be broken, forgotten, discarded and derailed. But, at the beginning and end of every day, I look at my daughter, and I have to at least be able to stomach the promises a candidate is making. 

What will we do without him?

So, as a sometimes writer, I am also a lover of books. As most book lovers do, I often imagine whirlwind trips to every corner of the world, visiting the most fantastic libraries and bookstores. I often see posts on social media sites like Facebook and Pinterest with photos of drool-worthy libraries in which we bibliophiles all long to roll around. 

I take a bit of warm satisfaction when I see a certain library, with floor-to-ceiling shelves, chocked-full of thousands of dusty and well-thumbed volumes that probably don't often see the light of day because of their incalculable value. The library at Trinity College in Dublin, Ireland is famous for housing, perhaps the most valuable illuminated manuscript in existence--the Book of Kells. But as you make your way to the case where you can view the two pages currently on display, you get to stroll past several other illuminated volumes as well. 

I've been there twice. I'm not a person of faith, and I don't read or understand the languages with which these beautiful volumes have been created. But while I do not understand or share in their language, I respect and understand their value and beauty.

And that is what is so special about an artist like David Bowie. 

It has been more than a week since my mind came to know that he is gone, but my heart is still in denial. It's as if a wing of one of the most incalculably valuable libraries has been destroyed in a fire, and there is nothing left but ash. 

Like that library filled with so many valuable and important works, I didn't always understand, or even like what Bowie brought to the table, but I always understood that the artists I found less challenging and easier to embrace, existed and were better because of him. 

The only similar loss I have witnessed in my lifetime was the loss of John Lennon. I know some would argue that Michael Jackson and Elvis left similarl sized voids, but neither of them stretched and strained against boundaries and convention in the ways that Lennon did. Or Bowie. 

Music has always been a vital part of my life, but I didn't come to realize it so much until I was old enough to start choosing what to listen to for myself. I have no talent for music, but luckily love requires no skill, and its only limits are self-imposed. 

I started to explore on my own and developed a passion for music around the time of the so-called Second British Invasion. There was a wave of boys with bottle-colored hair, lipstick and eyeliner. They were all artfully delicious, and they all consistently credited one man for their existence--Bowie. I had casually listened to, and liked David Bowie over the years, but now I wanted to know why he was so important to so many. 

I dove into the world of Ziggy Stardust, and "The Man Who Fell to Earth." I didn't understand his journey at the time. That kind of understanding only comes with experience, exposure and scars. Just like many people, I loved the David Bowie in the movie "Labyrinth," and I loved the infectiousness of the song "Blue Jean." I always sing along. It's easy to love that which does not challenge. It's harder to love what you don't understand, but more worthwhile, because it challenges you. 

And that is why losing a David Bowie is a heartbreak. Clearly, I did not know him. I was lucky enough to see him live once--a bucket-list item ticked off. The heartbreak is that someone so stunningly illuminating to so many has gone dark, and I don't know where that kind of light still lives.

I am much older now than I was when Ziggy first played in my little cassette player, and the universe we live in now doesn't seem to be sending out too many artists like David Bowie these days. Knowing how especially illuminating he was for so many artists, I worry even more about the void he leaves behind. 

Who will inspire the generations to come to ignore boundaries and to create themselves all the way to their last breath like Bowie did? Who will prevent my daughter from being dragged down into the mire of homogenized mediocrity that sounds mostly the same from station to station on the dial? 

Without David Bowie, I just don't know. 

http://youtu.be/_gjZP8OPH-U--Without You by David Bowie

I don't mean to offend

So, I have been ruminating over a handful of things since the middle of November, but I am smart enough not to get sucked into arguments that are waged only to be lost. Arguing with figurative brick walls makes even less sense than arguing with real ones. 

It has been a mad season, and when I say that, I mean a lot of people are both angry and crazy. Sometimes I think that none of us truly knows or understands where all of the mad comes from. I am a strong advocate for never diminishing people's woes, because nobody knows or understands the depths of each other's personal struggles, but it is true that sometimes when you look at the big picture, it's easy to start quantifying and distinguishing between the real and the perceived.

One thing I see a lot lately is a backlash against being "politically correct," and people who express offense over things. 

I am absolutely dumbfounded by this. I know that the term politically correct is not brand new, but it's not really that old either. It describes the effort to avoid specific language that demeans people of different races, genders, sexual orientations, religions or beliefs, and ethnicities--among other groups. But I think people have begun to use the term interchangeably with two words that have been around much longer--being respectful. 

I make it no secret that I would have been better off to have been raised by wolves. That being said, I understood from an early age that there were some kinds of things you just didn't say--no matter what you might think. I learned as I grew up that there were ways to express your opinion without being rude, hurtful or disrespectful to others. That doesn't mean you don't have opinions, or that you don't share them, it just means you say what you mean in ways that don't make you seem like an ass. The interesting thing I have found is that in finding a way to express yourself that isn't offensive or hurtful, you often express yourself more effectively, and people are more inclined to pay attention to what you have to say in the long run.

I realize current events make that pretty hard to believe. After all, right now, it seems like the loudest, angriest, rudest voices are the ones getting the most attention in our media. I think the real reason why so many people are becoming angry, loud and rude is because it's easier to say you're angry than it is to admit you are actually afraid. 

Fear, in the eyes of many people, is a weak emotion. Anger is the emotion of the strong and the ready. 

The world we live in today is a dangerous place. There are pockets of hate, distrust, and opportunistic misunderstanding in every corner. There is poverty, injustice, savagery and violence. We can't feel secure letting our kids walk or ride their bikes to school alone, or to play outside alone. Even our food can be a source of danger on any given day. I have a healthy amount of concern and disappointment about all of these things and many others. 

To a degree, we should all be angry about those things. But we also need to look deep inside all this rage and understand what its origin actually is. We're angry because we believe someone or something has given us reason to fear. 

Here's the thing, being loud, rude, offensive and disrespectful doesn't make any of these ills better, and anger doesn't conquer fear. 

When I was growing up, and found myself afraid of something, I learned to find someone to help, or to turn on a light. 

Maybe instead of tearing others down over differences, especially the ways in which others differ from ourselves, standing together in spite of those differences would be a better way to conquer our fears. The loud mouths who are using our own differences and resulting fears to further their own agendas couldn't really care less about any of us. The more we fight amongst ourselves and assist them in perpetuating negative stereotypes and ignorant assumptions, the more we undo any of the work that has been done to heal old wounds and make things better. It seems like when we say we are tired of being "politically correct," and people need to not be offended so easily, we are letting these loud and extreme voices do the same thing to us as we do to those we offend--we are letting them dehumanize us.

Do we really want to be used like that?

Trying to learn more about what we share in common might help us pull together and find the light in a time that can feel pretty dark. Maybe that's how we become "humanly" correct.

Friendship--never surrender it

So, a few nights ago I was outside with our dog. Just a few houses down, one of our neighbors was in his garage, talking on the phone. I wasn't exactly eavesdropping, but Mo was taking her sweet time, trying to find just the right patch of yard, with a perfect fallen leaf to grass ratio. 

Our neighbor's voice carried across the crisp, fall air like a bell. "Do you ever fuck up on purpose?" he asked. After a brief pause he said "Neither do I." I know it seems inelegant, but some of the simplest, and yet most profound ideas are. Sometimes our best intentions don't translate.

It has been a little bit since I thought about friendships, but it seems like a place to which I always return. The last several years have taken their toll on many of my own friendships, and sadly, I have witnessed the friendships of others both take hits, and break down. 

I'm not a gregarious person, and I have a toddler who has entered her terrible twos both early, and with gusto. That makes building new friendships in a quiet community, heavily populated by retirees, a little challenging. In spite of my accepted introversion, I think I do find myself lonely from time to time. While most of the friends I've had over the last decade were coworkers who live three hours away, I still often wish I could go back to some of my worst moments and have a second chance. Maybe then I would feel I could reach for a lifeline more often, and I wouldn't worry that I am unwelcome.

That's one of the things about adult friendships that is so very different from childhood friendships. We are quick to upset, anger and judge, and we are frequently hesitant to give each other second chances. It would be great to go back to that place where one day you squabble with a friend over a Barbie outfit or Hotwheels car, and the next day you're playing together like nothing ever happened.

This summer, I watched a loved one lose a twenty-year friendship. As a bystander, it was so difficult to watch that I couldn't stand it. I had grown close to the lost friend and his family, too. I butted in. It didn't make a bit of difference, but I love my friend so much that I would have moved heaven and earth to prevent such a heartbreak. About five years ago, I lost my best friend of at least thirty years. So, I well knew the anguish that permeates every corner of your heart and mind after such a loss. I have never stopped thinking about it, and I have never gotten over it. 

There's usually a pivotal moment that we are unaware of in which we compromised our friendship without realizing it. It may be after a build-up. It may just be one over-arching event. What really sucks about it--to go back to inelegance--is we become so close to, and comfortable with our friends that we come to believe we know each other better than we sometimes do. We think we know everything they're going through at any given time. So, we think if there's a problem, they will share. Sometimes, we're just so caught up in our own struggles that we fail to see, and our friends don't feel like we have enough room for theirs. As a result, we don't realize that not every hurt or harm can be worked out.

The trouble is that, over time, things happen to, and about us. We are wounded by people and circumstances, and those cuts and scars can run much deeper than a fight over toys. And not all wounds heal well, or evenly. They change who we are and what we think and feel about ourselves as much as they shape the way we see others.

As friends, we sometimes fail each other, because we believe we have found that rare individual with whom we can share our flawed insides, without fear of being misunderstood or shut out. I think we all long for that feeling of safety--that one person who can fully know and accept us, and who always understands our intent.

But the cuts and scars get in the way. Friendship can be strong. But what we believe about ourselves and the hurts that we hold onto can be stronger. In some respects, that's the very reason we hold onto them--they are a defense mechanism. They whisper warnings when our hearts are getting too close to pain we have felt before. 

And so, we shut each other out. We stop extending the benefit of the doubt. We let our fear, insecurities and need for protection outweigh all the moments someone was everything a friend ought to be. A few misspoken words are all that stand between maintaining deep friendships in which we would take a bullet for each other, and walking away forever. 

It feels like that should be an impossible outcome, especially when you feel you are on the losing end of the situation. How can my friend not have understood me? How can my friend not be willing to give me another chance? How can something that feels so powerful and strong for me not feel like that for my friend?

Now, I know, sometimes we really do commit unforgivable transgressions against our friends, but I want to believe we know when we have done that. 

Earlier in the year, I made a decision. I felt I couldn't teach my daughter that it's never too late to try and make things right with those we have harmed, even if we fail, unless I was willing to be aN example of that. I swallowed pride, and dug up courage to reach out to a friend I had worked with and been very unfair to. While the closeness we had will never return, it felt good to own the damage I caused and to set it free. I wish our friendship was intact, but I understand why it is forever changed.

A few months ago, I became aware of an incident that had hurt my best friend, that I somehow failed to see. It had been about five years since we had contact, and I was really scared to make the first move. I have plenty of cuts and scars of my own, and many that are still new and fresh. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I wanted her to know how much she had truly meant to me in my life, and how the last thing I would ever intend was to hurt her, or add to pain she was already feeling. 

I let the feeling burn, trying to decide what to do about it. I kept going back to my own feelings about friendship loss--how can someone so important in our lives not be worth fighting for? Of, course, I was thinking that she should have known and understood that I loved her too dearly to knowingly hurt her. So, why didn't she love me as much? Why didn't she fight for me? 

Why didn't my loved one's friend fight for him?

Sometimes, the cuts and scars are just too hard for us to see through. They blind us to what is real. They add insult to injury by stealing away from our lives the very people who would do anything for us.

Finally, I found courage. I reached out to my lost friend, and she reached back. Neither of us knows where our new path leads, but at least there is hope. 

Sometimes, we just have to be willing to reveal our very cores to each other, and be willing to come back to the battlefield--unguarded. If we lose, we will surely walk away with new cuts and scars, but while this scar tissue can hinder us, it can also teach us many things about ourselves and each other. 

And even if we still lose, we win, because we fought for something we know in our hearts we cannot afford to surrender. 

There's a difference between a right and an entitlement.

So, I took my daughter to a children's museum the other day. She's an only child, there aren't really any kids her age in the neighborhood, and sadly, she has an introverted mom, so we don't end up with many play dates. With all these "strikes" against her, I try to get her out and about to play and interact with the world a few times a week.

On this particular day, the museum was fairly busy. I tried to direct her to areas that were both age appropriate, and not very crowded. It was the first opportunity I'd had to take her to the painting area and turn her loose. We had the area to ourselves. And then it happened--a swarm of little girls literally crowded their way in and crowded my daughter out. As I helped my now crying toddler to wash her hands, a woman overseeing the group of girls asked if they had crowded into the space and I politely let her know that they had. She replied that's how it can be with a group of six-year-olds on a field trip. 

Needless to say, I was a little taken aback by her response, and sadly, I didn't have a witty comeback at the time. 

In the moment when those little girls squeezed my little girl out of the way, she had her first lesson in dealing with mean girls who feel entitled and don't care about anyone else's feelings. And that group of little girls learned that it's okay. 

Some people might tell me that I just need to teach my daughter to buck up and stand up for herself. For one, she's only 19-months-old, and is just starting to get her words. For two, I actually hope to teach her not just to stand up for herself, but to stand up for what's right and fair. 

Without a doubt, a group on field trip has a right to enjoy everything a facility has to offer, but my daughter has no less right. And that's the crux of the problem. There is a difference between a right and an entitlement. A group on a field trip has a right to enjoy a facility within the parameters of doing so in an orderly and fair fashion with respect to the other patrons. 

And I think knowing the difference between a right and an entitlement is at least part of where the huge divide between gun rights advocates and advocates for gun regulation are butting heads. 

It's true--I don't own a gun and never plan to. I plan to teach my daughter that it is a right of individuals to decide whether or not to own and use guns. And I plan to do everything I can to teach her about the possible dangers and consequences associated with guns. We live in an area where gun culture is prevalent. Hunting and fishing is extremely popular in the Natural State. And I am sure a fair number of our neighbors own guns. 

While I may not like guns or really anything associated with them, I don't take issue with people's right to own them. What I do take issue with is the idea that such a right supersedes everyone else's rights. When we begin to believe that about a right, we have crossed a line, and that right becomes an entitlement. 

In the wake of multiple mass shootings over the last six years, the same arguments are flying back and forth. There is no one solution. But at the end of the day, doing nothing is still doing nothing. 

It's disheartening and mind boggling that, in the eyes of gun rights advocates, calling for more thorough background checks, limiting the amount of ammunition a person may purchase, or eliminating certain guns that are capable of rapidly eliminating lives is the same thing as calling for the confiscation of people's guns and taking away their Second Ammendment rights. 

People argue that these restrictions and limits are just a first step. They argue that essentially unfettered and unrestricted access to any type of gun is constitutionally guaranteed,  and that we need these weapons to protect ourselves from our government.

I'm going to say what I think about all of that. The people who make these ludicrous associations are the same people who entertain conspiracy theories like 9/11 being an inside job and the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School being a government concocted hoax. Now, we might not all love the government, but we have the power to change it with something much safer and more rational than a lethal weapon. We can vote. 

For people who argue that armed civilians could thwart these mass shootings and that people should be trying to defend themselves, I hope that none of your loved ones are ever in a situation where they have to try to do so. I think we would quickly see how unlikely that is. My daughter, and in my opinion, everyone has the right to go to a school or public place--even if they aren't trained in hand-to-hand combat or how to shoot a weapon. The idea that gun rights advocates suggest this as the best alternative to regulating firearms is proof that they view gun ownership as an entitlement, not a right. 

There's also the argument that criminals would only ignore such legislation. That's true. The flip side of that is that sometimes making something even just a little more difficult can slow someone down or maybe even change their mind. Would that be so bad? A rational, law-abiding citizen wanting to purchase a fun is not usually doing so impulsively, and isn't going to mind a few more steps in the process. Arguing that criminals ignore laws is idiotic. If we base all societal constructs on this premise, why have any laws?

We need to understand the difference between having a right to something, and having a blanket entitlement to it. Your right to own a firearm shouldn't negate my daughter's right to go to school without fearing some bad man might come in and shoot her, her teachers, or her friends. Kids should do fire safety drills, and in our area, tornado drills, but they shouldn't have to learn how to avoid being shot at school. Teachers shouldn't have to wonder how they will keep their students safe in the event of such horrible circumstances.

People also argue that this is an issue of mental illness, not guns. My response to that is that you can't fight crazy with crazy. Crazy is throwing our hands up in the air and saying "stuff happens," and conceding defeat while people die. This isn't the kind of situation in which we should just shrug our hopeless shoulders and say the horse is already out of the barn We're supposed to be smarter than this. And if we want our children to leave the house each morning and to come back home at the end of each day, we need to be smarter than this. 

Mourning the loss of empathy

So, about two weeks ago, most of the world was moved to heartbreak when a photo of a toddler's lifeless body washed upon a shore was distributed to us through the news media.

Alyn Kurdi became the symbol of Syrian refugees who are fleeing, en masse, in hopes of finding safety and a new life in Europe. It was as if we in the West had been mostly unaware of the horrors playing out in Syria, and on the path to safety and hope.

And then, another image surprised many of us. A camerawoman from Hungary was caught, on film, tripping a refugee as he carried his child near the Serbian border. While according to NBC News the camerawoman has written a letter apologizing and claiming to have been in a panic, she was also seen kicking other refugees. I know I wasn't there, but usually when I do something in a "panic," the behavior is isolated and I don't keep doing it. 

Of course, we were all right to be heartbroken by the image of Alyn Kurdi, and we were right to be appalled by footage of the camerawoman tripping and kicking refugees. It's more than about time that we in the West become aware of the tragic and heartbreaking crisis that is the Syrian civil war.

But now that Syrian refugees have our attention, how long will they keep it? How long will it be before those of us who think we should be taking action on this crisis become disinterested, or even start to feel like it's not our problem? After all, don't we have enough to worry about ourselves? If we take in thousands of these refugees, won't they take American jobs? Won't they require all kinds of financial assistance? Shouldn't we take care of our own people first?

I ask these questions, not because I feel this way about the issue, but because any time there is a crisis that rightly draws our attention, all of these questions inevitably follow. What I find interesting about the path of these questions is that if we talk about our own people who need help, it's not long before we start to ask similar questions, and make similar statements. Why can't people take care of themselves? Nobody helps me. I'll bet that person is on drugs--that's why they can't keep a job. That woman on food stamps has an iPhone--my taxes are paying for her to have that?

So, really, even if our government didn't send aid to other countries, we wouldn't really be all that enthusiastic about helping our own people in need either.

While the world mourns the loss of Alyn, I mourn the loss of something bigger and less tangible--our empathy. In a world where many espouse faiths that encourage us to love and help our neighbor, we often close ourselves off from our neighbor, and shun those who need our help. 

When my husband and I talk about what we most want to teach our own daughter, empathy for others is often at the top of the list. We want her to be able to put herself in someone else's shoes. We want her to understand and appreciate her own fortunes, and to understand that not everyone shares those fortunes--even if they have done nothing wrong. 

We live in a terrible time with wonderful potential. We all have the ability to help someone, but many of us are worried about what helping someone else takes from ourselves, and we have come to believe that, regardless of circumstance, people who need our help are not deserving of it. They must have done something to put themselves in the situation, or they must be unwilling to do anything for themselves to get out of it.

Our own personal struggles have made us very cynical. And we have all heard stories about offering money to a homeless person, only to see them walk into the closest liquor store, or climb behind the wheel of a new car down the road.

Aside from fearing being taken advantage of, I think it's very easy to feel that we have worked very hard to get where we are in life, and that we have done so without any help. But come on, have we really? There were a few times I really struggled. I sold plasma a few times. I worked a few food related jobs. I worked my way through college. I had an unexpected medical issue. My mom flaked on me and kicked me out. And through all of these things, there wasn't a lot of help to be found. But there wasn't none. 

We think of helping someone who needs it as requiring a grand gesture, or something we can't afford. We think people who need help want to take everything we have worked hard for. The reality is often quite different. Help for me was a spare bedroom at my grandparents' house. Help was the $25 muffler my then boyfriend bought for my nearly dead Ford Escort. Help was a best friend who offered me a place to stay if I ever got brave enough to run away from the abusive household In which I grew up. 

All of those "helps" were small, but they made a huge difference to me, and there were lots of other ones besides.

A little boy, dead on a distant shore, tugs at our heartstrings for a moment in time. For an instant, the cruelty of an anti-immigration camerawoman reminds us to stand up for our shared humanity. Can you imagine a world in which those moments and instants stretched out a little longer? Can you imagine what it would be like if we remembered for more than those moments and instants that we are all made up of exactly the same stuff?