Upon returning from bustling Sendai City to quiet Fukushima City, the streets felt so empty.
Machi wa hissori shite iru.
All is hushed in the streets.
But we have our own illuminations!
Bright and beautiful is Fukushima at night.
At age eleven, my son is old enough to watch the news. But at age eleven, he is not old enough to learn that the other day’s massacre was of children. This pains everyone, but I think it pains our children the most to hear that other children have been killed.
They are thinking, “Could it have been me? Could a bad guy come into my school and kill me?”
I just want to wrap him up in my arms and tell him that nothing and nobody will ever ever EVER hurt him. But of course I can’t say that. My son is a tall eleven year old, and likely would have been one of the targeted boys if he were attending that Pakistani school.
A couple days ago, I started Malala’s book as a read aloud for my son. It’s the one for kids, “I am Malala” It’s really an excellent book. And so we are reading along about how the Taliban is gaining power in her area–preventing women from showing the face, going out in public, getting an education–and then that tragedy happened. Not being up on Pakistani politics, it helped put everything in perspective.
The only thing I regret I have is that I got the kindle book rather than the actual book. Her face is beautiful, and I’d like to show it to my son every time I pick up the book.