People, kinds and unkind in Deplorable thoughts

There are people you talk to and people you avoid.
Benny, my neighbor on the next block, falls squarely into the second category.

He has a nice enough little house, a bit worn and tired like most of the houses in this neighborhood,
but he keeps it better than I keep mine.
He flies the American flag, which is usually a nice thing, but he’s let that go a bit,
and most of the stripes have separated into strips about a quarter of the way from the edge
and the strips whip about like fringe when the wind picks up.
Just below the red, white and blue he flies an NRA banner, which I’ve never found charming personally.
(The NRA, for anyone outside the US who might not recognize the abbreviation immediately, is the National Rifle Association.)

Well, I usually think to myself, at least it’s not the Confederate flag.

Benny introduced himself to me shortly after I moved in to my double.
Apropos of the “For rent” sign I had in front of the other half of the house, he remarked,
“Well, I certainly hope you’re not going to let the wrong kind of people move in.”
It made my skin crawl, knowing exactly what he meant and the fact that he was testing to see if I was just as loathsome as he was.
I wish I could have been more brave than I am and said something cutting and true about how I viewed his kind of people,
but I must confess that I am more than afraid of bigots who proudly boast the belief in their right to be fully weaponized.
So I put on my most innocent face and replied,
“Oh, of course not. I’m being very careful, running credit checks on absolutely everyone who shows interest.”

I was out this evening, exercising as the heat of the day finally started to recede a bit.
As I passed his house, I noticed that Benny has a new decoration on his lawn, a yard sign.

I work at a school, a high school full of adolescent boys.
This week, we had to hold an assembly to address the massacre on another high school campus,
the scene of students and teachers mowed down with ease by someone wielding an efficient people-killing machine,
a weapon of war, with the single intent of killing as many people as he could.
My heart breaks in sympathy and despair.
Turning that school into a war zone was a horror that does not end with the funerals.
It goes on for the families of the dead who will always have unfillable holes in their lives.
It does not end for the children and adults who survived the assault because terror and trauma leaves permanent scars.
I would like to say I can’t imagine the pain and fear,
except that I can,
(and so can all our boys),
I can most unfortunately imagine a gunman walking into my school,
walking down our hallways, carrying an automatic rifle,
murdering people I know, children I take care of and care for,
people I work with and admire,
maybe even
me.

Oh damn,
I really do wish I could say I can’t imagine any of it.

The yard sign read
in big bold aggressive letters,
someone’s idea of a clever twist on the NRA’s old rallying cry –

“I’LL GIVE YOU MY ASSAULT RIFLE
WHEN I CAN PUT IT INTO YOUR COLD, DEAD HANDS!”

Benny is an asshole,
And now I’m watching all the people on television defending their rights to carry weapons of war,
saying that the solution to gun violence is to throw more guns at the problem,
to make teachers, teachers!
into soldiers on the spot.

Benny’s kind of people seem to be loud and proud
And, oh yeah, they’re the ones with the weapons.

Last updated February 25, 2018