The Late Arrival

The New Year is a few short days away and the "Year in Review" lists are coming fast and furious, as are "The People We Lost" montages. Neither tells us much, really. They serve as much purpose as Chris Farley's in-depth interview with Paul McCartney. We're like Sir Paul: we know what happened this year. We were there . What I wish those lists would relate are the things we've learned from the things that have happened. Seriously, I mean what are the take-aways from the Kardashians' latest breakup, or from reminsicing about the year's bitter bipartisianship, or even from Whitney Houston's untimely death? That we love celebrity soap operas? That we're sick of campaign ads? That drugs are bad? This is all old news. In fact, it shouldn't even be called news, it oughta be called Olds . Granted, there is something fascinating about looking over the year and remembering, but what if we as individuals came up with our own lists? What ...

In between swallowing back the crying lump and blinking back the tears, I’m fighting back the urge to scoop my daughter up from school. Even as I’m heartsick, nervous and wondering if there’s any place safe or sacred anymore, my kid’s at school . Going about her ten-year-old business. Either chatting when she’s not supposed to be chatting; or most likely, making her dad’s birthday card right now. The last thing on her mind is a lunatic desecrating her school – a place that Jamie and I consider to be a zone of safety – with a loaded gun. I hate that the consideration or threat of it happening even makes it onto my radar screen. I hate that right now, this tragedy is already evolving into battle of special interests. I hate that screaming “Mama!!” or “Daddy!!” isn't enough to scare off the nightmarish bogie men of real life . As hard as it is, I know I can’t let her see me being heartsick and nervous about this crazy, scary world. So until I pick her up, maybe I’ll...