Some People Have Real Problems

I always jump at the chance to slip a music reference into my posts, and tonight's title happens to be a lovely album by Sia that I've spent a good chunk of my life with since its release a few years ago. You should listen to it if you're in the mood for something soothing and not particularly sad.

Now onto the real problems that some people have...

A funky stomach bug kept me couch-ridden for a good chunk of the weekend, so I spent a lot of time watching news coverage of the Newtown elementary school shooting, including all subsequent television programs highlighting all of the violent and tragic events that have occurred in the recent and not-so-recent past.  I doubt I'm alone in this, but after a weekend spent listening to stories of kids getting killed at school and shoppers getting killed in malls and war and death and poverty, I've been pulled out of the world in my head where stupid trivialities become much bigger than necessary because they lack proper perspective.  Because, some people have real problems.

The Newtown shooting also triggered an interesting conversation with my mom about an event from my own childhood, and got me thinking about the kids who survived the Newtown shooting. It happened when I was six, while I was selling lemonade on a street corner with my neighbors.  This particular day was fairly windy, and at one point a stack of styrofoam cups blew out of a plastic bag I was holding and into the street.  My four year old neighbor, always eager to show off his running skills, darted into the street after the cups.  All I remember next is screeching breaks, an indescribable popping sound, screams, and my little neighbor laying still in the street before my sister grabbed my arm and we ran home. 

When my dad told us later that night that my neighbor had died, and my first thought was 'If I hadn't dropped those cups he'd still be alive.  How could this happen?' Armed with a six-year-old's knowledge of death, I though it was reserved solely for old people. I couldn't quite fathom that someone younger than my self could die. I'm sure this event played a bigger role than I even realize on shaping my personality, even though I was so young when it happened.  I can't even imagine how the kids in Newtown must feel, having heard (and possibly seen) the shots that killed their classmates.