The Last Class Picture

Does this look familiar? It does to me.  My daughter brings home a picture just like it every year.  My brother and I did too, and so did our folks before that. At some point, like a lot of parents, I'll find them, jammed in a drawer, covered by a tangle of wires for devices we tossed out long ago.  WIFE and I will take them and hold them. We'll sit, put them together, and marvel at how much MONSTA has grown in what will surely seem like almost no time at all.  

But this one is different.  It may not look it, but it is.  This picture is of 15 kids, all the same age as my kid, who were gunned down by a guy out of his head and stocked like a small army. This is their last class picture.  When their parents find it hiding in a deep, forgotten drawer, it will be alone.  For these children, there will be no more class pictures.  

I've tried hard to avoid looking at these faces. I pretended that like the other stories of tragedy, this too would be pushed from my memory by the million things vying for its attention. But it's not happening. This isn't going away.  My daughter is a first grader, and my wife is a school teacher.  And two years ago, we lost a beautiful, but too fragile, newborn baby. Sandy Hook has made a deeply profound and heartbreaking impact on me, and I'm not sure when that will pass.  But I think of their parents, and am quietly grateful knowing that for me, it will.  

Here's all I ask: take a close look.  Please.  Then look at your own kid, or nephew, or friend's kid.  See if you can't make out some resemblance. No matter where you come from, I bet you'll see at least some similarity. Then, when you get a chance, ask yourself: "Is this really the best we can do?"

ON THE DAILY GRIND...

Unless you've been living under a rock, or just not reading my blog, or avoiding me completely, then you know that in a couple months, WIFE and I will be welcoming our second kid.  He's a boy, and though he's still without a name, he does have a penis.  I've seen the picture.  We're both really excited, for many reasons, but as his "MOVE OUT OF UTERUS" date draws near, I have to admit to some slight panic.

Having one kid is tough. It's a complete adventure, full of giant laughs, lots of danger, and a man's share of the unexpected. Just last night, MONSTA got a bug bite, but instead of a tiny welt, her entire hand blew up like a birthday balloon.  I didn't even know that could happen. Surprise twists and turns aside, however, most of parenting is about the ROUTINE. Curiously, any discussion of this DAILY GRIND was left out of my pre-baby guide books.  But it's true. Once MONSTA could walk, our daily life became defined by routine.  And the taller she, and her hair, gets, the more rigid and complex the routine becomes. If my life were a math problem, it'd look like this: 

So if this sunny outlook is rattling in my brain 24/7, imagine what I'm feeling about tossing in a little multiplication.  

ABOVE ROUTINE X 2 = HOLY ^%#$!

We'll make it.  It's been five years, and MONSTA is still alive.  She's playing hooky right , on account of the  lobster claw she's sporting, but the swelling will eventually go down.  And when it does, she'll go back to school, and when that happens...welcome back, Routine.  What would I ever do without you?