I can remember the day he was born or at least I have a collage of feelings and images that have melded into memory. It was a warm September day and I was out on my bike along with much of the neighborhood. We were all tooling up and down Crabtree Lane, crisscrossing between driveways and each other. The sun was high in the bluest of Autumn skies when my father came driving home, top down in his red convertible, the blaring orchestral music filling the whole of us. Before that day our family was comprised of 3 boys and 2 girls, and I wished for months with fervent prayer to even the teams. I can still picture my father stepping out of his car, beaming with news of the latest son. I turned my wheels fast and headed down the block in defeat, but that sorrow was short lived, because when the bundle did finally arrive home, I was taken in by a kindred spirit.
Remember where you were on December 14th 2012? Recall the grief you felt hearing that Sandy Hook Elementary school in Newtown Connecticut had been violently targeted by a single shooter? I can. The emotion is as overpowering and unwanted as a raging arson fire. Within seconds after the shooting we were flooded through every possible media with heartbreaking images, leaving us all to retreat into a place beyond words. December 14th is not a day we want to remember, but I will, for not only were innocent children and their brave educators gunned down that day, but something in all of us shattered.
Two things happened last week that started me thinking about luck. First, I drove past a house that had an upside-down horse-shoe nailed over the door, with all their luck pouring out; in horror I wondered, did they know what they were doing, or worse, not care? Second, I read an intriguing interview with David Lindsay-Abaire on his new Broadway play “Good People,” Continue reading