a call for help

“There's a lot of ugly things in this world, son. I wish I could keep 'em all away from you. That's never possible"
Atticus Finch

It lives close by. For the few, it’s kept at bay for a lifetime. For most of us, there is at least one close encounter and many near misses. For all of us, from birth to death, it lurks within our peripheral vision, with its ubiquitous threat.

Violence.

I grew up in household where it seemed to explode out of nowhere, rocking the house and shaking me to the core. This was during the decade where it also came through the television in relentless waves. At seven I witnessed my President’s killer shot dead in real time in black and white. My generation grew up with that hopeless little screen pulsing it to us directly, uncensored and unfiltered.

As an adult, my body has felt its impact only when I’ve faced it down. Taking action against it often has meant putting myself in its way and wake. I’ve been shoved, hit, choked, and gassed as a result of peacefully standing up for a more peaceful world.

The past few weeks I’ve worked with others who have recently done the same. From the therapist chair I’ve witnessed the confusion, fear and pain that are wrought by a sudden encounter with violence. Can you ever really prepare for the visit? When I did trainings in civil disobedience, I thought so. Certainly it helps to find a resoluteness of spirit and connect to something bigger than yourself. But, there is always a toll taken, a scar on the soul if not the body.

This week my son had an encounter with violence. His best friend was beaten and kicked repeatedly in the head, while my son ran and called the police. His friend is alive, with no major damage, and three gang members are in jail, two of them adults. My sixteen year old son has replayed the encounter many times, questioning whether he should have stayed and fought. That’s what boys are supposed to do, to put up their dukes and fight for their friends. He’s my son, and he did not fight. He called for help, and help came.

Now I question whether he should to stand up against violence, to bear witness against it, and in doing so, possibly bring it on in full force against us. Tuesday we meet with a district attorney who specializes in gang violence to assess what ramifications my son testifying could have. I think I already know.

I have believed it’s important to try and do as little harm as possible in traversing life and to do what I can to devoke violence and face it down. That’s why I like the Wiccan Rede. That’s why I have no truck with calling myself a warrior. Because I have the power to heal, I know I could also hex. True strength means not doing so.

Like my son, I won’t put up my fists on this. But, damn, I sure as hell am calling out for help.