There will be songs written about the three nine year-olds and three adults that died at Covenant School in Nashville on Monday. Powered by the greatest songwriters working just a few miles away, melodies will likely take different tones: most slow and sad, some fast and angry, others just exhausted and fed up. I’d expect nothing less of a wounded Music City.
From my seat in suburban Tampa, maybe one of these songs written about this terrible day will make it to country music radio. And, just maybe, I’ll be listening to it while waiting in car line with my two kids that straddle the ages of those that unnecessarily perished (my kids, Emersyn and Everett are 7 and 10).
That song will take me back.
But, I can’t deal with that today.
So, I will avoid reflecting on the meaning of the song because, after all, my kids need to understand that they are safe when they go to school. I don’t want them to think of the horrors that met those six victims in Nashville ever again.
I’ll drive away, still listening to the future chart-topper, thinking that I’ve contributed to a problem that has not gone away.
My guilt has nothing to do with any stance I have on guns. It has nothing to do with the party I voted for or my outrage that something must be done to systematically insure the safety of our most vulnerable populations.
No, my shame has everything to do with the fact that I am fooling myself into thinking that this actually will never happen near my family. It is as if I have to act like that in order to have my kids feel they are protected after I drop them off each day.
The facts, though, should tell me otherwise – studies show that a shooting occurs on school grounds EVERY DAMN DAY. 1 in 5 kids aged 12 to 17 have experienced a “major depressive episode” in their young lives. On and on and on, these stats go – just pick one.
But, in spite of those realities, I drive off smiling, silent, and ashamed.
Sure, my kids will hear the news of another school shooting in some Neverland, far from their perceived bubble of safety but they don’t fret. They will use the car ride to listen to the same song on the radio while lamenting going to art class, complaining about packing their lunches earlier. Everett and Emersyn will wear big smiles as they greet their BFF’s that morning.
The song’s beat goes on and so do we.
I shake off the “What if?” scenarios that the song triggers in my head on my quiet ride back. Work is waiting for me at home, those obligations will push aside the need to think further about the Covenant School in Nashville until that song comes on again.
And, just like my opportunity to talk to my kids about the realities they face and their role in helping prevent another such school tragedy, the song will ends.
And, I will have done nothing.
Nothing – not talked about mental illness with my kids, not (re)emphasized the idea of becoming a friend to all, not insisted that they acknowledge those kids around them that might be struggling, not had them send up a prayer for the innocent people and families in that far-off Neverland, not ensured their safety.
Sure, this sad song will end, but I’m afraid the rest of this – the senseless killing, the mental illness, my sense of apathetic shame – will not.
