The first day of school holds a lot of significance– new friends, new experiences, new shoes (and new undies too!). Even if you don’t have kids, you probably feel that brisk energy and resolve to get ‘er done that comes back around each fall.
What you don’t need stuffed into that new backpack or purse is a sense of helplessness.
That’s what I felt when my oldest son told me about his first day as a high school junior.
I come from a family of gun enthusiasts. My younger brother is a firearms instructor in Iraq. My older brother, who lives in Atlanta, keeps a handgun tucked in his waistband. Even my 66-year-old mother is taking up arms, having just earned her permit to carry a concealed weapon in Michigan. Recently she held up her paper target for me to see: two bull’s eyes! Her exuberance seemed to expect matching enthusiasm from me.
More than 150 years ago, a former Harvard professor named Henry was awakened from his nap by the sound of screams. His wife Frances’ dress had caught on fire. Henry rushed to her aid, but she was quickly engulfed in flames. She died the next day, leaving Henry with their six children.