My previous post about the zipper that ate the panties, dubbed by SJ as “jumpsuit jail,” garnered some really enthusiastic comments on Friday and I really do appreciate reader friends reaching out to share their enjoyment of something I wrote.
I think we could all use a laugh, particularly these days, and I was happy to provide one. Even at my own expense.
Towards the end of my work day on that same Friday, I received an email related to an event that I’m hoping to organize. In the past few months, I’ve put some effort into bringing an important documentary to the area and it finally seems to be happening. I’m not quite ready to spill the details, but I can’t wait to share the information (and experience) with you. Stay tuned.
After I received that email, I felt weepy. The teariness of achieving something important, particularly as my academic life draws to an end, landed with surprising emotions. The fact that it is likely that the date of the event will be during my final week of a 30+ year career, couldn’t be a better coda.
It was almost as if the universe was telling me that my work mattered.
I finished my Friday night watching All the Empty Rooms, a recently released, short film. This documentary, a culmination of seven years of the work of journalist Steve Hartman and photographer Lou Bopp, reveals the untouched bedrooms of children lost slaughtered in school shootings in this country.
On my couch, I absorbed the pain and memories shared by these forever changed families. Parents and siblings spoke of their loved ones as Bopp’s images and Hartman’s words painted watercolor pictures of young people whom this country’s leaders find to be less important than their own campaign donations from the NRA.
For the second time that day, I found myself tearing up. I kept it together until the credits ran at the film’s conclusion. That’s when I completely lost my shit, placed my face in my hands and wept.
A list of the names of the children featured in the movie appeared on the screen. After a moment, the names of far too many other children murdered in their classrooms joined them. I was absolutely overwhelmed. Thirty-six hours later, I remain on the verge of tears.
I got home from the restaurant last night and learned about the shooting at Brown University.
Unlike my teaching career, it doesn’t seem that school gun violence will ever end.
There’s nothing funny about it.
DelSo 