“But that’s where Jodi lives!” our curious 7-year-old said. The panic in her voice indicated what parents everywhere dread for their children: fear.
Thankfully, my sister and her family were away on vacation. But the unpleasant emotions of yet another violent act against unsuspecting civilians were unavoidable. As a parent, I couldn’t help wondering if the current generation of school-age children will ultimately be known not by an alliterative label like “Baby Boomer” or a cool-sounding letter like X or Y, but rather something more morbid.
Are my kids and their peers destined to become Generation Don’t Go Outside?
The Olympics. Office buildings. Airplanes. Movie theaters. Schools. They’ve all been targeted successfully, and we’ve answered with more vigilance and protection. But the last frontier of Western democracy, and the very essence of personal freedom — to roam where one pleases — has been breached. City streets, absent of explicit entry or exit points and with constantly recycling crowds, are hard to defend. We can’t create security checkpoints everywhere or search everyone’s backpacks — nor should we.
I can deal with lines at the airport. Metal detectors and armed guards in office buildings don’t bother me. I would even, against my inclination, consider the suggestion of Wayne LaPierre, the executive vice president of the NRA, to staff security guards in schools. But I draw the line at turning our free society into a police state to protect public spaces such as marathon courses and outdoor malls and parks.
As long as the majority continues to be peaceful, we will be at the mercy of those who are not. By practicing kindness and encouraging the same of others, we leave ourselves vulnerable to those who spend their days brainstorming novel ways to inflict terror. And it will always be so. For the disenfranchised, angry and unloved (Timothy McVeigh, Mohamed Atta, James Holmes, Tamerlan and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, etc.) exercising a misguided sense of power is the only way to level the metaphorical playing field.
Ironically, it is the very nature of playing fields — bordered only by painted lines, soft grass cushioning our every step under boundless blue skies and joyous cheers animating the air — that will make us forever immune to what people like the Tsarnaevs tried to do. We’ll run, but we won’t run away.
I will be angry with the cowards who tarnish celebrations of joy and accomplishment. I will mourn the deaths of innocent victims. I will celebrate the brave men and women who provided first aid and support to those at the finish line, and those who apprehended the at-large criminal. I will even rejoice when a terrorist is caught or killed, though it still feels hollow to revel in another’s misery.
But I refuse to let fear decide whether I cheer on a friend in his first triathlon or watch my kids play in a soccer tournament.
How does “Generation I Am Not Afraid” sound?
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