Uvalde

Uvalde

I wrote this poem following the mass shooting at Robb Elementary in Uvalde, Texas.

I kept this poem to myself these last few weeks for obvious reasons – I felt who was I to comment on this tragedy? Who was I to say that I understood an aspect of pain, betrayal that these kids felt?

But I’ve been feeling a finger tapping me on the shoulder every time I think about this poem, this shooting, these innocent children.

I think about how so many of our problems in society stem from lack of love, lack of self worth, lack of kindness to self, and how it seems so obvious that the failure stemmed not from a lack of preparedness, but from crippling levels of fear.

The adults, armed with military-style weapons, body armor, and at least dozens of hours of training, they were afraid to interact with someone who carried a weapon similar to theirs. Even when they knew innocent, unarmed children were in danger.

To me this signals, we not only have gun issues we need to figure out. We have a fear problem in society.

Adults in this country are absolutely terrified to take a stand. Especially if that stand involves change.

I don’t know what it is about aging, but it seems like even the wildest hearts – like myself – find comfort in the way things have always been as we grow older. But the problem with the status quo, of trusting people in power to always do the right thing? It’s not working.

As I was thinking about the number of times I felt adults failed me, I started to think about times I gave my power away instead of viewing myself as someone who can rise up and get shit done.

I want to share one of those memories with you:

When I was in fourth grade, the bus I took to get home after school didn’t show up; I didn’t exactly ride the nicest bus route. And so after some scrambling and conversations with teachers and bus drivers, myself and the kids on my bus route we were all informed that our bus route was being divided into two groups.

If you lived North of a particular intersection, you were to get on one bus. If you lived South you were to get on a different bus.

I always struggled when it came to directions, so I cannot tell you how much of a relief I felt wash over my entire being when the teachers said that the older kids – the fourth and fifth graders- were going to help the littles figure out which bus they needed to get on.

Almost as immediately as I felt this relief, I felt panic as I remembered I was one of the older kids. I was in fourth grade, and the amount of anxiety and pressure I felt in that moment to not screw up anyone’s day by putting them on the wrong bus was overwhelming. So much so that it has stuck with me to this day and I am 32.

I’m sharing this with you though because I think we often put our feelings of safety and power in the hands of other people, especially those we consider to be authority figures, those who are older than us, our bosses, our teachers.

I know I did that day with the school bus.

And even somewhat with Trump’s presidency.

I kept waiting for the fail-safes to kick in. For the adults in the room to stand up and take the screaming toddler out of the room so that the temper tantrum would stop, not spread like wildfire.

But here we are.

It’s the end of June and I’m still on the edge of tears

All the years I lived in fear continue to bubble to the surface.

I’m soaking wet, covered in sweat at 2 AM

All I see are bullets

My pain feels laughable compared to these kids.

BUT my inner kid…

My inner kid just told me a truth –

She kept waiting for the adults to come and save her too.