Friday, September 11, 2009

A sad story

I find myself awake early, walking around the too-big house, thinking about the mistakes I made the day before and knowing I will likely repeat them again today.  But it is a brief time of piece before the overwhelming anxiety of the day, of life, kicks in.  It's amazing how hard three little things can be.  Brush teeth, eat breakfast, get dressed.  To do that for two kids and get them each to their respective schools on time is harder than it sounds and sometimes leaves me feeling worn out before my day even really begins.

I also try to comb my daughter's hair each morning so she doesn't look scruffy.  It used to be a painful process but I have a new solution!  I bought a special "ion infused" brush and a bottle of infusium 23 leave-in conditions.  To quote Junie B, first grader (a book series by Barbara Park), Wowie Wow Wow!  This may sound obvious to some, but as a baldie, I felt this was a remarkable discovery!

I've always loved writing and wished I had chosen it as a true path, rather than something to do when I feel sad.  Oddly, my recent efforts at writing were inspired by a television show I watched about a once productive writer.  For some reason it made me want to try writing seriously, to get my style back.  Maybe it was the royalty check he received, allowing him to go out and buy a brand new Porsche, but  best of all was that he really didn't want the Porsche.

I would buy mental health, an ability to enjoy what I have now instead of missing it once it's gone.  Of course this can't be purchased.  We fill the voids in our lives with things that can be appreciated now, new ipods, computers, bicycles, and other items that bring us temporary pleasure and eventually go unnoticed.  It's easy to see how one can become a shop-a-holic, as shopping brings an immediate gratification to a life that may not have much deep pleasure.  Deep, long-lasting pleasure is hard to find.  We work hard and are sometimes successful, but happiness may still remain elusive.  I know I've been there and still had a hard time being happy.  The best feelings I've had are when I make someone else feel better.  Making up a nice story for my children, helping a stranger lift something heavy.  I suppose that our political leaders feel that way, as do our judges, doctors, and others whose job it is to help others.  Somehow it becomes badly diluted.  Helping others on a small scale is easy.  Helping others within the societal machine, as a service, fails too often.  Laws that had good intentions become twisted like a bad LSD hallucination.

A man starts a bonfire for his children, a happy occasion and a nice thing to do.  He may not have been the most careful person, or perhaps he was unlucky, but the fire burns his house that night and kills the very same children for whom he built the bonfire.  The same kids who delighted in roasting marshmallows on that fire.  How do you want your marshmallow, brown or burnt? 

An accident, and a horrible one.  I build bonfires.  On my honeymoon, my wife and I almost burnt the house down and we are both smart people.  It was not due to bad intention but to bad judgment and lack of knowledge.  How do you pay for that?  You repair the damage and learn from the experience.  How do you pay when lives are lost?  Nothing brings back the lives.

The man was arrested, had a trial, and was put to death for murder.  Before he was killed, evidence came forth that he truly was a kind, loving and loved father, that the fire was enjoyed, that it was all a terrible accident.  Why was killing him justified?  New evidence was not allowed as due process had been provided.  He's dead.  His children are still dead.  He is a villain despite whatever he really may have been.

Somehow justice has become distorted in our country.  There is a lot of power in the hands of law enforcement.  Jails are clogged, court systems are clogged, judges are rushed.  Even wise judges don't have time to spend on cases that are the most important things to ever happen in someone's life.  Crime is not stopping.

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