No Answers
As usual, I feel bad for the “bad guys”. You know you are getting old when you have trouble hating people. Now, don't beat me up for this, I mean, I saw what they did. The images are permanently embedded in my memory. Embedded in the soul of our country. I also remember what it was like to be young, to be passionate for an idea, even a bad one. Fortunately for most of us that passion centers around benign activities. But what if it did not? What if circumstances unfolded in a away that instead of an older sister with a fervor for antiques, she had a zeal for politics? Would I have spent countless Saturdays traveling around the countryside looking for other "freedom fighters" or spent evenings reading about the chemicals needed to make bombs instead of those used to properly clean old furniture? What if the ties that bind us had been born of violence and hatred? And the images return. Eight year old Martin Richard, just moments before his death, his sister s...