The last thing I did this morning before walking out the door for work was hug and kiss goodbye my 4-year-old, who was singing and playing with our electric keyboard. I walked out to the car, my iPhone in hand, preparing to try out a new podcast for the 15-minute drive to work.
Got in the car, hooked in my iPhone, belted, turned on the car ignition and looked over my shoulder.
I looked. I did look.
But it was a quick look, a glance, a blurry glance. It was a look without any intention of seeing, and in fact, I had already shifted the car into reverse and begun to lift my foot off the brake pedal when the image registered in my consciousness of my 4-year-old running over to finish saying goodbye to me.
I looked. I did look.
And he wasn’t behind the car. He was to the side of the rear of the vehicle. I wouldn’t have hit him. But it was just way, way too close. And a different image rests in my brain.
Put the car in park, unbelted, got out, picked him up and hugged him tight in that way where you’re scolding him, yourself, and everyone and everything in the world for allowing tragedy to lurk around every corner, at any moment.
Now I’m at work.
I really regretted looking at my phone while still in bed this morning, was checking Twitter just to see if there was any baseball trade news. Instead I read nothing but tragedy. Such a sad way to start the day but yes it makes one want to hug all nearby loved ones and appreciate every day.
Was a great piece in New Yorker online today by Anthony Lane, btw, about the shooting vis a vis the movie. Very level headed.
Agreed re: Lane.
Obviously, the individual in question will explain his actions as an exercise of his Second Amendment rights.
That very thing happened with a mother in our neighborhood last year with tragic consequences. I’ll never forget the sounds of the parents that morning.
This is such a sad day.
That’s what I keep imagining.
Lux Eamonn O'Meara
Your Dodger updates are always great. Your analysis is tops. And this site is very unique in that you add humanity to all that. You’re a good writer, Jon Weisman.
Thanks Jon for the humanity of your writing.