School Shootings. Can we deal with them yet?

Oh, my goodness. I just can't. This whole walking out thing has really instigated an either/or that doesn't need to exist.

 There's been real concern that younger generations aren't involved in government/politics and now they're doing it, but because it goes against what people agree with, it's a bad thing. At least they're doing something (emphasis on the something).

 If kids decided not to walk out that's fine, too, because they're choosing to stay in SCHOOL. Why get mad at that.

 If they chose to be a little kinder to their peers and "walk up," good on them. We could use more kindness in the world.

 If they walked out just because they wanted to get out of class for a few minutes, maybe they learned or experienced something of importance in the process. Maybe the mental break was just helpful. School is stressful and hard. I'm not too old to forget that.

 If they were doing the Tide Pod Challenge a month ago, and are now walking out as part of a movement, I'd say this is some kind of improvement. (BTW there were 86 reports of misuse of pods by teens in January, source TIME, let's round up to 100 for the month and assume that number stayed the same for February and March, that's 300. Compare that to the ONE MILLION estimated kids who walked out, source The Wall Street Journal. The number of kids doing the challenge is just a small fraction of the demographic, so I move that we all stop using that to undermine teens speaking up.)

 Please just take a beat, and find the teaching moment in this movement — instead of searching for the negative. If kids walked out without school sanction, they learned about consequences. If they walked out and the school organized it, they learned that their voices can be heard — so make it count. If they walked out to take a moment of silence for other murdered kids, they learned reflection. If they walked out because they want gun control changes, they learned about the Bill of Rights. If they didn't walk out because they don't want to see gun control changes, they learned about the Bill of Rights. If they walked out because they want the adults of this country to figure out some way that they don't have to be afraid of getting shot while in school, regardless of how it's ultimately handled, they learned to stand up for themselves.

 If they learned nothing, that's on us, adults. If we're too busy arguing about whether or not they should be walking out or if they're qualified to be dealing with gun issues, then we missed the fact that many did walk out. One million children and teens. We missed the students who chose not to stay in the classroom. We missed the kids who decided to spread kindness. No matter what they decided to do or not do, there was a teaching opportunity at that moment, and we missed it.

 I'm not a parent. I'm not a teacher. I'm also not a politician or a government official. But if I was any of those things, I'd like to think my response would be, "I hear you. I want you to be safe, too. We will figure this out. Far too many kids have died this way."

 That said, I am a voter and they are my fellow citizens, and I want them to know that I'm glad they're involved. Don't stop being involved. Keep going. Educate yourself. Question everything. Talk to people from all backgrounds. Develop your own opinions and empower yourself with knowledge, understanding, and empathy. Just keep learning. It is a lifelong pursuit after all.

A Garden Variety Contract

Well, that was an embarrassing fall. Stella looked at her feet. Nope, definitely still have a left and a right one — not two left feet. At least Aunt Genevieve can reasonably make that excuse. She actually does have two left feet. Ever since her simp of a fairy godmother misunderstood her request to have her right foot look more like her left because she wanted a bunion removed. NOT that she literally wanted them to look the same, which is exactly how said fairy godmother understood the request.

Regardless Stella just lived up to her nickname everyone in this pit-hole of a hamlet gave her, Unstable Stella, by unceremoniously tripping and falling over the embankment that bordered the deep forest. They could’ve at least gone with Unsteady Stella. It’d be more accurate and a better use of literary devices. But because she wouldn’t put her fellow residents in the category of those terribly concerned with semantics, she tried not to waste the energy thinking too long about it.

But hey, the bright side is she landed on a cushy patch of moss. Turning her head, the sweet smell of decaying leaves shrouded in mud wafted around her, which was punctuated by a pungent stink of mold that caused her to bolt straight up. There, sitting directly at her feet, was the source of the regrettable stench. A frog that she could only describe as voluminous boldly stared back at her.

“You know you nearly took my life by falling so carelessly,” the frog indignantly fired the accusation at her.

“That seems a little dramatic, but I am sorry if I hurt you.” Stella returned with equal indignation. Frogs could be so touchy.

“Women.” The frog huffed under his breath.

“What?!” she demanded appalled.

“Your type is always either kissing us or shrieking at us. A simple ‘how do you do’ would go a long way, you know,” the frog offered back.

Stella sighed, softened her gaze and asked, “ Well, how do you do?”

“Not so well, thank you very much,” the frog countered. “An uninvited stranger just tried to kill me and in MY garden no less!”

Incredulous, Stella snapped, “Well, this was fun. I’m out of here. Bye.” She pulled her knees toward her and began to stand. “What garden are you talking about anyway? This isn’t…”

Her voice trailed off as she glanced up and beyond the frog’s sizable head. It WAS a garden. How had she never come across it before? She hadn’t lived here long, but surely she would’ve seen it by now.

Yellow roses peaked and glowed over poppies of every color dotting a labyrinth of pathways. A stonewall as old as time itself held the tranquil scene together with a large nurturing oak tree sheltering a red gate at the far right corner of the wall.

“What is this place…” Stella wondered aloud in hushed awe.

“Well you could be here then suddenly here isn’t here anymore and here becomes there,” the frog puzzled.

Rolling her eyes, Stella retorted, “You're talking in utter nonsense, frog. What’s your name anyway?”

“Rude, girl. But it's Lewis if you're really asking.”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“It appears you have,” Lewis sighed in agreement. “Though tomorrow that name may no longer fit me for sometimes the me I am isn’t the me I want to be and I have to become another me.”

“Well, I’m Stella. Although the longer we talk the more I wonder if I shouldn’t be Alice,” she wryly joked.

And with that, Stella turned around to climb back up the embankment she had fallen down. However, instead of the embankment behind her, she only saw the same stonewall that stretched out in front of her.

“You can’t go backward — only forward when time is involved.” Lewis chastised. “But I can hel—”

Stella cut him off, “Nope. I can help myself thank you very much.” She turned on her heel, leaving the frog of great volume — along with his ridiculous commentary — behind her. She didn’t know it then, but she was headed on a fruitless journey. Walking through the yellow roses on the paths dotted with every color of poppy while white daisies waved at her, she arrived at the red gate and pushed it open. Walking through it, she found herself right back in front of Lewis.

Without making eye contact with Lewis, Stella kept walking like she'd meant to do that all along. So she continued on her path with bold, albeit false, confidence.

Time and time again, after walking through the red gate, Stella continued to find herself in front of that insufferable frog. He just kept sitting there not in mockery but seemingly in anticipation.

Before long it was day after day, and that turned into a full week. She tried different combinations  — walking backward, on one foot and with her eyes closed, climbing over the gate, rolling under it and leaving it open — all to no avail. So giving up, she threw herself down in a huff in front of the ever-present frog whose darting eyes shifted along either side of his enormous head.

“You win. I can’t do it. How in the world do I get out of here,” Stella exclaimed exasperated and defeated.

Lewis repeated what he’d said no fewer than seven days before, “You can’t go backward — only forward when time is involved, but I can help.” He paused, “There’s simply the little issue of our agreement.”

“You got it. Whatever. Just get me home.”

“So many of your kind have kissed me. And without my consent, you should know. As retribution and if I help you get out, you must agree to become my wife.”

Stella looked at him with disgust. “You’re gross. You literally have an infestation of mold thriving on your back. Nope. No way. Not going to happen.”

“Of course you can continue walking in circles for all eternity...” Lewis offered up.

“Well, if kissing you without your consent is so bad, this is way worse,” Stella hissed at him. “It’s blackmail, extortion, it’s words I don’t even know!”

“I’m giving you an option. It’s just a contract. You get out of here. I get a wife to fetch me flies and take care of this mold issue you so indelicately called to attention. What will it be.” Lewis simply stated with a hint of bored expectation.

While Stella's response was once again a hard no, 542 more times of walking through that red door right back to Lewis’ stupid face decided it, especially since it seemed she would find herself coming back to him for all eternity regardless. At least this way, she’d be out of this forsaken place and back home.

So on the 543rd time, Stella signed the contract.