COLUMBUS, Ohio — Let’s have a conversation.
My son, Penn, came home from school, Monday, and we got into it. A big argument.
You see, my son wears a school uniform and every day when he gets home he wants to (understandably) change his clothes – and every day – literally every day this school year when he gets home – I beg him “please keep your clothes together,” and “please put your clothes in the laundry room in the laundry basket.”
And, just like the school day before that and the one before that – he put his clothes in the laundry room, carelessly thrown on the floor.
A fight. One that ended with him crying and me questioning my ability to be a father, my sanity and my patience, or lack thereof.
My son, Penn, came home from school, Tuesday.
Nothing else mattered.
I want you to know – it’s difficult to play in this space. It’s difficult to have this conversation because the one thing I never want – I never want the conversation to be about me. I never…ever want to take away from the big picture, the victims, their families, their sacrifice or their heartache – I never want to shift that narrative.
But, I have a child. I have a child who’s in the same age range of those 19 victims in Uvalde. Many of you do, as well. You have children. Grandchildren. Siblings. It’s not about me; it’s about them. It’s about us.
This morning in our news editorial, we had that same conversation. The conversation after the Uvalde, Texas shooting. The conversation after the Buffalo, New York shooting. The conversation after a recent shooting at a Presbyterian church in California. The conversation…the muddy, unforgiving waters that, arguably, every news station across the country was struggling to wade through, this morning.
What should we go after? What angles should we effort? Who should we talk to – how can we push this conversation forward in a constructive, meaningful way?
What you have to understand – is that you don’t understand – how hard it is to report on these matters. Nationally, to locally. My colleagues, though, who will always be, inside and out, better than I could ever wish to be – they do their job. And, today, they did it beautifully.
Me? This morning? I couldn’t. As much as I needed to, as much as I wanted to – I couldn’t engage in that conversation.
I’m angry. Here we are again being forced to have this conversation. Every time. After every shooting – we blame guns – we blame mental health, we blame resources, we blame our upbringing, our influences, our economic standing, yet… nothing is ever done.
More questions, no answers. More finger pointing, no responsibility. No resolve.
It seems the one thing we forget in this conversation – the one thing we all need to be reminded of – is the one thing we shouldn’t have to be reminded of at all: there is no common ground for common decency.
You know what I hate more than anything? I hate that everything I’m saying doesn’t even matter.
Many will count this as the media interjecting opinion where it doesn’t belong. Many will tell me to shut up and simply do my job. Many will continue to cast the shadow of blame where they think it should be placed, while never offering a ray of resolution.
It’s not about me. Arguably, it’s not even about those 19 children in Texas, the 10 killed in New York or the one person who died in that California Presbyterian Church. It’s for them. Not about them.
It’s about all of us.
That’s how I wish to start this conversation. You take it from here.