The Newtown CT story, and the related conversations, are still front and center in a lot of minds. There is a lot of dialogue out there, and as I’ve declared in the past, dialogue for the most part is good. I hope that the dialogues that are occurring lead to positive change in all of the directly and indirectly-related topics of conversation. In my opinion, the best source of healing after something like this is positive change; some sort of validation that maybe this event could possibly mean something besides pain and suffering.
So, this morning, I woke up at 5AM with a series of recollections below, about an event that affected my family.
When I was eight, my dad introduced my family to his the family of one of his co-workers. This family consisted of a mom and dad (my dad’s co-worker) and their four year old son. Soon, the families spent a few evenings together in the way that play dates used to be: the adults all hung out together in one room with their social time, while all of the kids played in the other room.
Growing up with two sisters, I was very excited to have another little boy to play with. For me, this boy was like the little brother I didn’t have at the time. I have a specific memory of an old wooden toy train set. I had started to out-grow that set. My parents convinced me to give that toy to him, and he instantly loved it. I remember playing with that toy train with him, and even at that young age, I remember feeling a little proud that I gave something of mine to someone who thought it was special. I don’t remember how long our families spent together; but I don’t think it was more than a year.
When I was eight, my dad introduced my family to his the family of one of his co-workers. This family consisted of a mom and dad (my dad’s co-worker) and their four year old son. Soon, the families spent a few evenings together in the way that play dates used to be: the adults all hung out together in one room with their social time, while all of the kids played in the other room.
Growing up with two sisters, I was very excited to have another little boy to play with. For me, this boy was like the little brother I didn’t have at the time. I have a specific memory of an old wooden toy train set. I had started to out-grow that set. My parents convinced me to give that toy to him, and he instantly loved it. I remember playing with that toy train with him, and even at that young age, I remember feeling a little proud that I gave something of mine to someone who thought it was special. I don’t remember how long our families spent together; but I don’t think it was more than a year.
One fall night, my dad came home from work, and said we needed to have a family meeting. He proceeded to tell us that this little boy and his dad were killed in an accident; they were hit by a drunk driver. I have seen my dad cry only four times in my life – that was the first. We all cried for what I think was a half hour; maybe longer, maybe shorter. I vaguely remember my parents trying to explain death, and what it means, and it was all very (expectedly) difficult to deal with. I don’t remember how long things seemed empty, or how long it took for life to return to routine, but it did, as life inevitably seems to do.
Fast forward ten years: I came home on a college break, and when I walked in the door, sitting on the couch was this boy’s mom. I hadn’t realized that she had eventually moved to Michigan, but on this day, she was back in the area, visiting old friends and the grave site. I do remember that there was a local newspaper article (which I made a copy of and still have to this day) discussing what had happened, and between reading the article, and the related conversation with her and my parents, I found out that the story was even more tragic then what I (and my sisters) were told ten years before.
The tragedy was not that they both died in a car accident. The father kept him out of school and drove to Atlantic City. After a day at the beach, they checked into a hotel, and when the boy fell asleep, the father killed his son with several stab wounds He then stabbed himself, but was not able to fatally. The next morning, he drove back home, where, by that point, the mom had gone to police and a search was underway. The police recognized the car, and they were taken to the hospital. The father did have a fake story to tell, but soon ended up telling the truth of what happened and turned himself in.
I was stunned. But once I read the article, it was back to the conversation in my parents' living room. The mom then talked about the healing process, and how it led to her teaching in an elementary school, and starting to do some very important and inspiration work with kids. The whole point of her story, and I believe her visit, was how she was able to turn such a tragedy into something positive and real, and it was, and is, an inspiration story that needed to, and needs to, be shared.
And that stuck with me, from that moment in 1991. And that resurfaced this morning in the wake of this recent tragedy. The two tragedies have some similarities, and some differences, and I don’t want to get into a listing of those.
So, in thinking about writing this, and trying to double-check my recollection, I found where she wrote a kid’s book dealing with this tragedy, and a related interview with her, in the magazine of the college (Northwestern College) where she received the Distinguished Alumni Award in 1991 for Distinguished Service to Humankind. The links are below. I’ll let the interview tell the rest of the story and speak for itself.
BUT...tragedies happen and will continue to happen; it’s unfortunately a fact of life – a harsh fact that I wish didn’t have to be the case. It’s what we do with those tragedies that can change us and help us get to a place where, in moments like these, is hard to imagine being possible.
Fast forward ten years: I came home on a college break, and when I walked in the door, sitting on the couch was this boy’s mom. I hadn’t realized that she had eventually moved to Michigan, but on this day, she was back in the area, visiting old friends and the grave site. I do remember that there was a local newspaper article (which I made a copy of and still have to this day) discussing what had happened, and between reading the article, and the related conversation with her and my parents, I found out that the story was even more tragic then what I (and my sisters) were told ten years before.
The tragedy was not that they both died in a car accident. The father kept him out of school and drove to Atlantic City. After a day at the beach, they checked into a hotel, and when the boy fell asleep, the father killed his son with several stab wounds He then stabbed himself, but was not able to fatally. The next morning, he drove back home, where, by that point, the mom had gone to police and a search was underway. The police recognized the car, and they were taken to the hospital. The father did have a fake story to tell, but soon ended up telling the truth of what happened and turned himself in.
I was stunned. But once I read the article, it was back to the conversation in my parents' living room. The mom then talked about the healing process, and how it led to her teaching in an elementary school, and starting to do some very important and inspiration work with kids. The whole point of her story, and I believe her visit, was how she was able to turn such a tragedy into something positive and real, and it was, and is, an inspiration story that needed to, and needs to, be shared.
And that stuck with me, from that moment in 1991. And that resurfaced this morning in the wake of this recent tragedy. The two tragedies have some similarities, and some differences, and I don’t want to get into a listing of those.
So, in thinking about writing this, and trying to double-check my recollection, I found where she wrote a kid’s book dealing with this tragedy, and a related interview with her, in the magazine of the college (Northwestern College) where she received the Distinguished Alumni Award in 1991 for Distinguished Service to Humankind. The links are below. I’ll let the interview tell the rest of the story and speak for itself.
BUT...tragedies happen and will continue to happen; it’s unfortunately a fact of life – a harsh fact that I wish didn’t have to be the case. It’s what we do with those tragedies that can change us and help us get to a place where, in moments like these, is hard to imagine being possible.
- Link to the Northwestern College interview: http://classic.nwciowa.edu/summer2008/transcript
- Amazon.com link to her book, Forever Friends: Amigos para Siempre (Volume 1): http://www.amazon.com/Forever-Friends-Amigos-Siempre-Volume/dp/097416111X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1355840794&sr=8-1&keywords=Christina+McGrinson
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