20 kids, only five, six, or seven years old. They were murdered in Connecticut yesterday because an unstable, heartless monster had access to his mom's assault rifle and two handguns.
Kids. Not going to be able to grow up and experience their first kiss, first dance, first date, first love, first car, first A+, first F, first anything. Kids, man. Babies. They didn't even get a chance to be somebody.
Because in America, their society is governed by a piece of paper drafted over 200 years ago, and to some right-wing gun nuts, this document is infallible even in the wake of a horrific tragedy.
I get it. Bad things happen every day. Horrible things happen every day. Monsters exist and they want to lash out and hurt as many people as they can. Sometimes for no reason at all.
Horrible things happen every day, but in a world where we know there are unstable monsters around every corner, we need to put strict access restrictions on weapons and tools that can cause widespread harm.
If the man in China had access to an assault rifle... you think those 22 children would still be alive?
High-powered, semi-automatic assault rifles aren't necessary to be in the hands of civilians. Trained, or untrained. They serve no purpose, other than a false sense of security from threats that don't exist.
Assault rifles are not necessary. End of discussion. Anyone who chooses to argue otherwise is choosing an archaic, 200 year-old document written during a different set of circumstances over the lives of 20 kids.
No one in their right mind can make that argument.
I "favorited" a bunch of tweets from yesterday. There was, and still is, a lot of emotion on Twitter and in the media, and for good reason. Here are some of them:
Twenty families have been ruined, forever, because America is a backwards Country that is so afraid of the monsters lurking in the dark, that they've created a perpetual horror-machine that breeds the very monsters that they're trying to protect themselves from in the first place.
Columbine, Littleton, Virginia Tech, dozens of others, and now Sandy Hook Elementary.
You're making it too easy for the monsters to succeed. Something needs to change or this perpetual horror-machine is going to continue to end life after life after life.
I started out not really knowing how this was going to go, if I'd find it fun or daunting, pleasurable or annoying, useful or not... and I can honestly say it was a... memorable, worthwhile experience.
The whole experience wasn't always unicorns and rainbows, I found myself struggling to get a post done every single week, but only because I wanted to ensure I was talking about something interesting and make it a worthwhile experience for anyone that actually took the time to sit down and read my words.
First semester is officially done when I hit the "PUBLISH" button on this blog, which is absolutely bittersweet, because we are about to be shuffled around and put in entirely new sections.
The following essay was an assignment for my "Writer's Craft" class taught by Chris Petty. It was an interesting assignment, in that it was completely open ended. We could write on any topic we chose, but the essay had to fit a personal essay format.
I chose to talk about an incident that happened over a decade ago, where I was struck in the head with a javelin. Yes, a javelin.
A real, metal, roughly 2 pound, pointy stick, used in the Olympics.
In the head.
Here is a rough visual approximation of what it probably looked like:
Except mine was in the FUCKING HEAD.
Sorry for swearing. It felt right. Here's the essay. Enjoy.
“Well, Nolan, I’ve got good news and bad news,” the Doctor began. “The good news is, you've got a brain in that head of yours. The bad news is… I can see it right now.” My mom let out an unnecessarily dramatic sigh of sorrow, as mothers often do. My dad, without missing a beat, stood up from his chair, crowded around my hospital bed, and chimed in with “can I see?!”
This was roughly ten hours after the incident that put me in the hospital bed. I was accidentally struck in the head with a 2.6 meter, 1.76 pound steel javelin by my friend Preston, a mere three inches from my temple/eye socket, on the top right quadrant of my cranium, fracturing my skull and leaving my brain literally exposed to the world. It was a freak accident that took place near the end of my grade 9 gym class.
Sitting on the high-jump mats, waiting for gym class to be over, I felt a sudden THUD on my head. I assumed it was the high-jump bar, so I placed my hand on my head, attempting to quell the immediately severe pain. Blood bubbled to the surface like a volcano and I was covered in red almost immediately. I rushed to the school office, where I was then rushed to the local hospital, and then finally to the Winnipeg hospital – four hours away. I was conscious during the entire ordeal but wasn’t allowed to take any painkillers for fear they would put me into a coma. As a proud, stubborn 14 year-old, I only cried once: when they used a 50-cent disposable razor blade to dry-shave the hairs surrounding the hole. I needed 30 stitches and 12 staples to hold together my fragmented skull, and reconstructive surgery to reattach the membranes surrounding my brain.
Until I had called to report that I was okay the day after the incident, my schoolmates all assumed I was dead and a rumour persisted in neighbouring towns for years after, that ‘some kid’ had been killed by a javelin to the head during gym at Major Pratt School in Russell. The doctor told me if I would have been hit in the temple, the carotid artery, or the eye socket, this rumour would have been true. I would have been dead. I could have easily been killed that day.
There is an old adage that your life flashes before your eyes when living through a near-death experience but I certainly didn't have one. It hurt, but I wasn't scared; everyone around me was screaming, crying, and frantic, but I didn't panic; I was covered in blood, but at no point did I even realize my life was in danger. The near-death experience requires consciousness and awareness that death is life’s inevitable, feasible conclusion. However, at the time, I was an invincible teenager that thought he was going to live forever. I was untouchable, unstoppable, unkillable – there was never a thought in my head that I was going to die, despite feeling like I had been cracked in the head with a baseball bat by Babe Ruth.
The arrogance of youth knows no bounds, and posture, despite the prospect of death, is no exception. I remember vividly not understanding what the big deal was, as well as not understanding why everyone was crying. I didn't understand the fear in my parents’ eyes, or the concerned looks from doctors and nurses. Death wasn't an option to me. And although we often say teenagers don’t/can’t comprehend the gravity of death, it’s weird to vividly remember it first hand, this indestructibility and arrogance of youth.
If this incident would have happened this year or last, as a 26 year-old, I can undoubtedly say my reaction would have been different. I would have freaked out, thought about my loved ones, perhaps even made an impossible-to-keep promise to God if He helped me get through the turmoil. Though I can’t pinpoint the moment I accepted death as a plausible outcome, I now know that it awaits all of us. I now know that I was mere inches away from not walking away from the accident, despite only realizing it in hindsight.
In hindsight, I can only live through the experience as if I was watching it happen to someone else. Since I have a new set of beliefs, feelings, and understandings, I can only reminisce and empathize with the young boy going through the nightmare and I can’t apply the experience to the new version of myself although I wish I could. There are stories of cancer patients winning their battle and miraculously turning their lives around, devoting themselves to living full, happy, charitable lives. Others tell of near-death experiences with sunset endings, where lives are changed, people are vindicated, and the quality of life vastly improves afterwards. I wish this happened to me, I wish my life flashed before my eyes, I wish I had the near-death experience, I wish I could be inspired to live each day like it was my last. But I didn't, so I don’t.
Life is a funny thing. Lessons can be taught but until one learns something firsthand, the lesson taught isn't yet ingrained into one’s psyche. A mom can preach, beg, and scold for her kids to not to jump on the bed, but until the kids actually fall off and break an arm, they won’t learn their lesson. It’s the same with all of us. All of life’s lessons need to be learned in this manner, so despite a potentially life-changing incident happening to me, it was to a version of me not yet equipped to take from it something that few people recognize and understand: We should live life to the fullest and live each day like it was our last. Maybe next near-death experience, it’ll be ingrained for good.
-NxB
Playing: Planetside 2 by Sony Online Entertainment
