Time Out

This deer season started earlier (for me) than last. I had problems with tendonitis in my right arm last year and this prevented me from practicing with my compound bow. Meat is not so scarce in our house that I have to add to the risk of wounding an animal in the early season by running out into the woods unprepared.

That problem (tendonitis) didn’t exist by the time hunting season rolled around this year though. “Sticks and stones” might do the job but without some practice you’re likely to hurt more animals than you actually take home. This summer I was able to pull out my target and let some arrows go over a few weeks and got what I felt was a satisfactory result. There’s certainly a direct correlation between accuracy, confidence and your personal ability to harvest the animals you shoot at in as humane a manner as is possible. Hunting is not about wounding your intended prey and leaving them out to die a slow miserable death. Quick clean kills and use of the meat are a hunter’s way of demonstrating respect for the animals they take.

The preseason preparations included gathering and organizing supplies. Light ropes and cords to secure all my gear, and batteries (and spares) for flashlights or GPS devices. Laundry chores also make the list, which usually require some attention to scents (or de-scenting) of clothes and other items. Guns, boots and little knapsacks are cleaned and checked. It’s amazing how much “stuff” you collect as the years go by.

As luck would have it I had more vacation days to spend in the woods this year than in years past. Not that all of these vacation days would be spent in the woods because chores at home usually don’t go away by themselves but once the majority of my family responsibilities were taken care of, the free time to “get away”, or to sit down in a quiet place and watch the world go by in the woods had now presented itself.

Hunting is a relative term I guess. For some hunters it’s a more aggressive activity because they actively stalk or chase their prey (sometimes with dogs) towards situations where they can harvest the deer or whatever animal they happen to be hunting. I’ve engaged in a more passive and solitary form of hunting in recent years called “still hunting” where you create an ambush of sorts and wait for an unsuspecting animal to come within range before you take it. Some hunters become adept at both forms and are very opinionated on what is most effective and when to switch tactics. Hunting is an “art form” that literally goes back to the cave man. Maybe that’s what makes it so attractive for so many?

I’ve never understood how some persons conclude that you “catch” a deer. Catch is a word you might use if you were hunting bare handed or maybe with a knife. I prefer the term “harvest” over kill because the objective is not just to kill but to cull only a portion of a renewable resource or herd. Recreational hunters today don’t “need” the meat but hunt wildlife to experience the out of doors and to see the non-game animals as much as bring home a trophy. During the off season lots of hunters transform into hikers and birdwatchers. This hunting season I became more aware of other persons in the woods and the concept of sharing game management areas with them. Most of this was unplanned and more serious than picking up the usual candy bar wrappers or soda bottle or two.

During bow season I woke one morning before daylight and got set up in my climbing stand as if on queue. Everything seemed to have gone well and for once I’d not left anything important behind at home, in my truck or on the path to my stand. My first lesson for the day was that instead of carrying a flashlight in my hand that a headlamp would be a worthwhile purchase. I saw deer staring back at me in the dark just a few yards from where I parked and it was too dark to see a bowstring and get one so I had to let them go. I don’t usually consider it to be a bad thing to see and not get anything on a hunt. The main reward of hunting for me is in being out in the woods in the first place.

I sat up in my first “bow season stand” for the best part of the morning and saw very little in terms of wildlife. The weather was warm so I didn’t get to see frost melt off the bark on the sunny side the trees like I did so many times last year. A lot of “season” was left for that though. At about 10:30 or so in the morning I heard a human voice down on game-land trail and saw a hiker coming with his unleashed Labrador mix. Both walked by without looking up or seeing me, the tree cover was still fairly thick and bow hunters aren’t required to wear orange so this is no real big deal. The hiker wasn’t talking to his dog though. He was almost completely focused on his cell phone conversation as he made his way through the woods.

I doubt that the hiker saw much more of the woods than what was immediately underneath his feet that day. The dog probably enjoyed the walk more than he did. The hiker returned about a half hour later still oblivious of me and the rest of his surroundings. I just shook my head from 20 feet above and wondered why he even bothered to come to the woods that day, he’d obviously never (mentally) left work or home even though he was physically on a path somewhere in the North Carolina game-lands. He was out of sight soon enough. After all this I figured my hunting was “over” for that morning so I packed up my gear and headed back to the truck. Maybe next time I should set up further out from the “masses”? This guy would never know how many people (or animals) he was sharing the woods with. After seeing this guy, I know where all the little pieces of paper and other human (and nonhuman) detritus in the woods come from.

The next week I decided to set up in another area. I’d only been in this new place once before so rather than risk being lost or spooking game out of the area I entered early in the afternoon with the hopes of getting something before dark. I tried to bring in a pull cart just in case I actually got something. Each of these experiences is a little different and comes with its own lessons. Today I learned how difficult it is to drag these game carts in (unassisted) and how noisy they are when you have narrow or nonexistent trails or bad footing.

The season had progressed and along with it comes an increasing availability to use more “modern” technology. Instead of hunting with a bow I’d brought my black powder gun. Sticks and stones had been replaced with things that go “boom”. I went as far as I dared into the woods and found a place where the cover looked interesting. I set up my climbing stand a few notches too big and re-learned a lesson from seasons before.

If you don’t get things right at the base of the tree, they are only going to get worse as you climb higher. This is also true about a lot of other things in real life. I toughed out this stand setup for as long as I could and have to say that it kept me awake for the entire time. The words uncomfortable and scary come to mind. If memory serves me right it was more of the former… less of the latter. No regrets though, at least I got to see a fox walk underneath me but not before it cried back at me. I just “let it go” on its way because I was taught in the school where “if you aren’t going to eat it, you don’t shoot it”. These animals (foxes) might be hell on things like rabbits and small turkeys but I saved my powder for another day.

Modern weapons or “gun season” kicked in and we had company come in from the western part of the state to hunt with. I didn’t have any special place in mind to set up my stand for opening day so I settled for being about a half mile from where the rest of the crew went into the woods. I found a pine tree that offered minimal cover. It was next to a small poplar which tends to keep its leaves longer though. On the way towards my stand I spooked a doe. All I could do is watch its “white flag” disappear in a pine thicket. The word “busted” comes to mind. But the morning wasn’t over.

Anticipation had kept me awake the night before so I was a bit groggy that morning. Pileated woodpeckers couldn’t keep me awake on that stand and the squirrel noises all started to sound the same as the morning went on. The “sleep monster” caught me and I nodded off until I heard a crack behind me that sounded a little louder than all the others. By the time I turned around a small spike had spotted me. I was surprised enough that I didn’t think to whistle or grunt to make it stop long enough for me to take a shot. Sometimes you just have shrug things like this off. I wasn’t going to get too upset about missing a chance to take a “scrub buck” home on that day. You just can’t get them all can you?

So far most of my adventures in the local game lands have been solitary. On occasion I hunt with other people but I enjoy solitude and the quiet. It’s a break from corporate rat races and family drama. When you’re alone you have the opportunity to sort out the rest of what’s going on in your life or take your own “mental pulse”. Hunting can be the exact opposite of a team building exercise if you hunt alone. I prefer to think we should always feel like we’re in good company when alone (or something is wrong). If think things through, do a few things right and you’re lucky, you take home a lot more than the occasional game animal.

Yankee Driver!

There’s nothing like a ride in the country some days. I’ve recently had a few.

Rural traffic has its precious moments like two weeks ago when a wrecker was finally called to move the old 1950’s vintage school bus from the edge of the farm field to a real junk yard. Fortunately I gave this “mobile monument to Jed Clampett” a wide berth. After a half mile or so large pieces of undercarriage broke off and struts were on the roadside. The tires from the towing rig deflated and the whole kit and caboodle ended up on the side of the road until a flat bed truck could be brought in to pick up what had not atomized on the pavement right before my eyes. Manure wagons might be aromatic and slow but they don’t usually pelt you with old pieces of rubber, steel and the garden variety farm detritus that can’t be plowed under.

The drive to work the other day was like many others. It is almost 25 miles from where I live to where I work and a good part of it over back roads. There’s not usually a lot of traffic most days if you stick to the back roads. Sometimes the other drivers are content to accept their place and speed. This morning was an exception. One of those dreaded suburban utility vehicles was on my bumper. We were traveling at about 50 to 55 miles per hour or 10 miles over the posted limit but this wasn’t fast enough for this guy. I could see his windshield but not his headlights in the rearview mirror so he was definitely tailgating me.

Almost 30 years ago Mr. Hazelwood my driver’s education teacher coached me on how to handle these situations. You’re supposed to slow down and encourage the idiots to pass. Evidently the double yellow lines and oncoming traffic weren’t favoring my new “tail” so he followed me for about 4 miles before I grew tired of him. I don’t think Mr. Hazelwood would have been proud of me this day though.

As the years have rolled by my driving habits have mellowed out. I’ve even been accused by some persons close to me of driving a bit like an “old man”. I decided to consider that to be a compliment of sorts. On the other hand “Mr. Tailgater” was starting to wear on my nerves even more after mile five so I hit the “squirts” to “clean our windshields”. This first warning went unnoticed as did the slight swerve towards the centerline as a friendly token of encouragement. The second “wash” had about the same effect. There was definitely windshield cleaning fluid all over the front of this SUV behind me now. But this guy obviously wasn’t “getting it”. Either the cell phone conversation he was engaged in wasn’t going his way or he’d skipped his morning caffeine so it was now time for some clarity. After all, I wasn’t going to be the person to make this driver late to his destination. My right foot left the accelerator and firm pressure was applied to the brake.

I don’t think Mr. Tailgater’s early morning beverage survived the quick dive (and swerve) when he was forced to imitate my braking maneuver. I chose to remain at exactly the posted limit and his response was pretty much what one would expect. There was some “animation” going on back there although I can’t say exactly what because my focus was still much more than fifty percent on the road ahead of me (where it should be).

Mr. Tailgater finally hit the gas and found another driver about a half mile ahead to “push” the rest of the way into the business park. It’s quite possible he didn’t want to see the tailgate of my truck any more too. He’s probably a slow learner but then that’s his problem… not mine. For as long as he drives like a Yankee, I suspect that many of his future driving lessons will equally painful for him. There are lots of other persons out there ready to teach him his lessons too.

Barry Saunders - proof that there's lead in the water...

re: http://www.newsobserver.com/559/story/561537.html

If News and Observer readers need more proof that there’s lead in Durham water they need look no further than Barry Saunders’ most recent column “Florida does right by felons”. It’s no secret that Saunders’ views often tilt to the “left of center” but now he’s choosing to advocate for felons; his admission into the “obsessive progressive” club is now secure.

Too bad he has to resort to terms such as “ex-felon” to make his points. To those that are unaware, such watered down terms are often used by “bed wetting liberals” in their attempts to re-write history. Once a citizen is convicted of a felony you shouldn’t just pretend that it never happened. Only fools would trust embezzlers and drug addicts hands in public matters (and with taxpayer’s money). No doubt Saunders and his ilk are also pushing for expunction of criminal records so that even their term “ex-felon” might be “conveniently forgotten”.

Speaking of “forgetfulness”, Saunders promotes the idea that felons should be allowed to vote once they are released from prison despite owing restitution or damages to their victims. Only the worst of "enablers" would enact legislation that would reduce incentives for felons to pay restitution for the crimes that they’ve committed. Is the man confused, has he mistaken the criminals for victims? Maybe he’s forgotten that the Victim Compensation Fund is not exactly well funded. Suggesting that felons who paid their debts to society shouldn’t have to take the initiative to register to vote is further proof of Saunders’ strong sense of enablement (for felons or drug addicts and petty thieves).

If history is an indicator what kinds of persons might be likely to influence leadership, it’s those that have similar employment and common beliefs. What kind of leadership does this man think that felons are most likely to elect? Is Saunders advocating for crooked government and cronyism?

Saunders finishes his diatribe after shedding some tears for some stupid convicted murderers and labeling presidents as political cowards. All this, based on accusations made by mentally retarded sources he does not name. Barry sounds more than just soft on crime; maybe he’s soft in the head too.

When columnists writings tend to dismiss victims, advocate for those that have harmed them and suggest that we lower standards for voting (extend it to thugs that have not paid their debts to society, or suggest sentence reductions and record expunctions) to make their points, we have to wonder what influences such thinking. I am amazed.

In short, issues and items that Saunders promotes are things reasonable persons should avoid.

cc: NC Joint Legislative Corrections, Crime Control and Juvenile Justice Oversight Committee

"Open Season"

It seems like only a few months ago everything had just been stowed away. “Open Season” is just around the corner again. This year seems to have passed us quicker than any other.

My backpack has been checked and “re-loaded” with the usual paraphernalia associated with spending time in tree stands, calling or hauling game out of the woods or just trying to be comfortable (dry and warm). Last weekend the white oaks started “dropping” and while I was out scouting the game lands I could hear an occasional ping or pop when the acorns hit something hard. Thankfully none have hit me square on the head (so far).

The leaves are beginning to change too. Neighbors will begin to “chase” them, or rake or blow the leaves into piles and off of their lawns. During the past few weeks we’ve had some rain so the ground seems fairly soft. Those who were smart enough to plant new lawns in early September this year will have much to show for their efforts. Last year was drier and more of a challenge because we’d started hunting in a new area and weren’t acquainted with all the landmarks, the places to go and things to avoid. Maybe we’ll be able to track the local fauna more reliably. This year we hope to build on what we learned from last year except that there’ll be fewer of us.

Summer activities included a lot of “home maintenance 101”, a little bit of travel and attending some family events. Occasionally Dad and I have discussed bits and pieces of the plan for the fall and early winter. I didn’t get to practice with my bow this year because of a nagging elbow problem. We were reminded that it was time to enjoy what exists today and to prepare for tomorrow. Our sense of urgency renewed when we learned of the eminent development of nearby properties.

My regular gun jammed in the off season so I will be tromping the woods during the late fall with a different one. The muzzle loader that I’ve used for the past few years has been recently sighted in and cleaned. There’s a certain comfort about having these items marked off my mental checklist before opening day.

It’s easy to tease yourself into thinking that this year things will go smoother or that we’ll all be better prepared for what’s to come. For some of us the “destination” is what it’s all about, opening day or a clean, quick harvest or a trophy. I guess that’s part of it. Right now I am thinking about that seasonal journey towards hunting season… the first part seems to have already started again.

There’s an old Chaucer proverb that concludes “all good things come to an end” or some variant of that conclusion. Why can’t good things just change and be handed down?

Let the public decide

I recently posted some letters to editors of more than one local newspaper. The responses I received differed slightly but I was left wondering what sort of business ethics apply to media outlets when they decide to cover certain stories. It’s important to remember that not so long ago we lived in a world without blogs or an Internet where so many things are so easily verified (or worse). I've come to the conclusion that we need to put today's tools to better use.

My first letter to an editor was “softened”. The source of the confusion was the header of the webpage that readers click to make their submissions. Instead of 250 words as the page indicated, the paper had recently decided to change its policy to 200 words or less when it comes to soliciting their reader’s thoughts. Three weeks have passed since my complaint to the Opinion Editor about this problem and the website hasn’t changed a bit. Readers are still left to wonder if they are allowed to submit as many as 250 or 200 words if they have something to say.

I am brutally aware that I am no William Shakespeare and expected some minor edits but what I didn’t expect was for editors to remove real content. I was especially disappointed because I had already gone to some great lengths to summarize the facts of my submission.

I objected because the information that was pruned from my letter was the heart of my submission. My post had been gutted. It shouldn’t surprise you that my letter exposed the media’s failure to report certain facts about a recent event or person. Up to a point I suppose they could have used space and time (the number of words and a deadline) to explain the absence of certain facts. They might have been unaware that such information even existed or was so easy to verify. Then again, I make a point of referencing my sources which are very public and supposedly impartial.

Later the same month I made another submission to yet another local paper. Granted this second paper was known for its personal slant on many issues but I thought that it might be worth some time and effort just to see if they might print an opposing view or one that challenged their coverage. Much to my surprise, they did.

The second letter prompted a phone call from one of their reporting staff. I was almost immediately asked if my letter had in some way been provoked by a personal experience. Of course I answered honestly (and “yes”), and I expect that this probably disqualified me in the mind of the reporter.

Later on in the conversation I had with the reporter from the second newspaper I was amazed by his relative frankness. The “reporter” basically said to me that the audience that reads what his employer creates is more interested in information that supports certain points of view (not mine) and that he and I would always disagree on the issue in question. So he’d more or less confirmed all my suspicions about the kind of coverage he intended to provide.

Since then I’ve been left to wonder about the media even more than I have in the past. Why does the public treat major media outlets with suspicions which they didn’t have in the past? After all, aren’t the days of “it isn’t real until you read it in the morning paper” gone? We’re not just talking “Blather-gate” where a blog exposed Dan Rather’s agenda when it came to a president’s service in the National Guard. More likely we’re talking issues that are not usually front page news.

I guess my point here is that when reporters and editors decide what facts are relevant and which ones don’t deserve space or time in their columns, aren’t they in a position where they often “withhold” facts that the public might need to know? Shouldn’t their work (now that we have an Internet that makes sharing of information so much easier and more efficient) include footnotes, website links and other references to (objective?) sources wherever possible?

When it comes to issues and broad as Global Warming, Middle East or local politics, court cases or celebrity gossip are we doomed to reading and hearing what the media has decided for us? Has the media forgotten its mission to report the facts (as many as are verifiable) and to let the public decide for itself what’s important, right or wrong?

When will the media feel more of an obligation to qualify their sources? Why should the public be satisfied with the media’s interpretations (or headlines and sound bytes) of what the news really is? If some of us want to take a closer look at things, and the media is interested in earning some public trust, aren't we owed some "easy access" to source information (links, email addresses, contact information)?

Walks in the woods...

This year’s turkey hunting was different than past years. I felt a little bit better prepared. At least I thought I knew where I was going and we knew that there was game in the area. A handheld GPS with some half dead batteries was in my knapsack just in case we needed to airlift someone out on a clear day (fat chance). We might be able to make a cell phone call out after getting decent line of sight on a cell tower. The property is gorgeous and you can see Table Rock from many vantage points on the trails and from the field.

The preparations included all the usual antics. I had half my stuff over at my fathers place and the other half in my truck. The loading didn’t start until a complete inventory was taken and certain items were promptly placed on the “nice to have but won’t have it” list. It wasn’t like we were going to be gone for weeks or far from a place where we could buy another (of whatever it might be that's missing).

I hadn’t practiced my turkey calling but wasn’t worried. The goal of this expedition was to get as far away from work as possible. I’d left word with the poor guy that backs me up that I’d be “on the moon” meaning that the cell phone wouldn’t be on and I wouldn’t be calling in before I got back. Hell, it’s not like they were going to pay either of us extra for the long distance corporate drama and there's not much I could do to help anyway. Some things would just have to wait... I guess that defines what is really "just far enough away".

The tendency for hunters to go through their mental checklists after it’s too late is something we’ve gotten better at over the years. On the way out the door we remembered that the alarm clock was still in the house. I couldn’t think of a better way to begin a short vacation if I tried.

On the way into camp we visited the owner’s of the camps house (Leonard) and said “hello”. We learned then that we’d have the place pretty much to ourselves for the first few days. This was almost too much to believe. Just maybe we’d come home with a gobbler? We settled in that night to a very quiet camp and it was cold enough to almost want to start a fire but not so bad it was actually “needed”. Great sleeping weather!

I made my way outside for the first morning hunt about 10 minutes too late. Isn’t that the way it always is? We just had to have breakfast and I filled my travel mug with coffee before heading out the camp door with my shotgun. These are the kinds of mistakes that you’re not supposed to make on opening day… you supposedly learned this lesson from prior years. We'd file this under "lessons re-learned or re-re-learned" in our logbooks. You can't make up for lost time in the woods if you don't leave camp on time.

No sooner than I was a hundred and fifty yards from camp than I heard gobbling. At least one gobbler was off his roost and looking for hens before I’d had a chance to set up. I’d made plans to walk up this one path and settle down where I could look down on some ground that overlooked a gas line. Before I could reach the top of the hill, I could see the outline of some birds. I “waited them out” to see where they might go and they had headed for the other side of the hill. Lord knows if they actually heard or saw me. On second thought, I bet they did. They had the sun behind them so I couldn’t see what really happened. I needed to be some place where I wouldn’t be the one with the sun in his eyes.

Eventually I finished kicking myself and settled down in old turkey blind. Maybe we could get down to business... if I could just get comfortable. It wasn't an issue about clothes or the other gear... it's more of a mental thing some mornings. You coach yourself into remembering where you are and to not to get all hung up on what you've done to get there. You eventually focus on what you have to do... or the "here and now". It's a life strategy that rush hour traffic can teach you if you're smart enough to learn it. I wasn't driving my desk this morning and we were all after a different kind of turkey today. This one had real feathers and spurs. Once things were more or less in order I could rustle up a slate call and let out a few purrs to get warmed up.

I heard sounds from all over. Gobblers were off the property and downhill on the gas line. It was a “National Geographic Moment” when two pileated woodpeckers were playing peek-a-boo around this old rotten oak tree. It would have also beed a "Kodak moment" too except that the weather predictions said "rain" and I didn't want to risk getting my camera wet. They traded sides of the tree while chasing one another and fed from the ground. It was hard not to be jealous of them. They had a wonderful backyard to play in all year long and I'd have to leave in a few days.

Before long I saw movement uphill and out of range. There was plenty of light so I could pretty much see that they were hens. No reason to get bent out of shape yet… not with the world’s best turkey decoys (live hens) strutting all around you. It lasted for about half an hour or so. I don’t know if they got tired of the scenery or if they figured me out.

Around lunchtime I knew Dad would be looking for me. Because I’d not heard any shots from where he said that he’d been hunting, I figured neither one of us had anything to show for our morning in the woods. That was okay as far as I was concerned because this was never a competition.

It’s always interesting when you gather up your gear for the trek back to camp. It’s a good thing I double checked my pockets because I almost left a striker for one of my turkey calls behind. I had a spare and having two of anything handy is usually nice but having “one you want” isn’t always an option when you’ve lost it or even just left it behind.

Dad was ready and waiting (for lunch) when I got back. I learned a few minutes later that the brand new hearing aids he’d packed were in camp (in his suitcase) all morning while he was across the creek. We shook our heads about our transgressions from proper hunting technique and talked about what the hunting would be like on Monday.

I spent Monday morning in the same little blind as before without the benefit of all the wild bird activity. This forced me to think of other places for the afternoon patrol. As I started down the road in front of the camp, one of the other hunters reminded me to “walk slow and listen for clucking” when he heard me say where I was going. This was "my last appointment with the woods" today and I wasn’t going to miss it, so it probably looked like I was in a hurry.

Later on this same guy (Danny, who is Leonards oldest son) would follow my footsteps up the same path. He (accidentally?) found his way onto a neighbor’s property and ambushed a gobbler that wasn’t even on my radar if you know what I mean. More seriously, if I don’t have personal permission to hunt in a strange place, I prefer to pretend that it’s not even there. Anyway, I ended up seeing some more hens on the way uphill on this path but kept my distance and hoped that they hadn’t seen me. Little did any of us know at the time, but Danny ended up chasing at least one more hen in the same direction on that same road. At least that's my guess about what happened anyway...

After spending the better part of the afternoon purring and stalking the local wildlife, I decided to head back to camp so Dad and I could have a "proper dinner" in town. This meant that the camp shower would see some use and where we’re at, this is a task best performed in daylight. On the way down the hill in the middle of the road I can’t believe my eyes A perfectly clean turkey egg was waiting for me. I kept it in a pocket in my new turkey hunting vest until I got into camp.

The sun was starting to get low and Dad was waiting for me on the porch. He was pretty much "ready to go" and have dinner in town. He asked if I’d seen “anything”. I told him that I “got one”. Obviously there were no birds in my game pouch and not having anything to show for it was just asking for more questions or dumb looks so I offered up that “I’d got mine with my bare hands”. When he offered that he’d hadn't heard any shots, that’s when I showed off my little “gem” or the egg. We both had a laugh. At about that time a shot was heard in the distance, on the other side of the property line. About a half hour later we pulled the same drill on Danny when he came out of the woods with a gobbler draped over one shoulder and a grin that went from one ear to the other.

Our day was complete. We’d all had a good time.

Thoughts of a victim advocate being interviewed by the Media

You get a phone call from a friend of a friend of a friend. Enough time has gone by that most of those you know don’t remember what happened or expect that you’ve “gotten over it” or put things behind you. But what stays in the minds of “most persons” isn’t necessarily what stays with you.

The gist of the friendly call is that some legislators (or those that have their ear) got the wild idea that watering down prison sentences and making it easier for offenders to become eligible for parole might save the public a little bit of money. Interested media persons (legislators and the public) need to hear a victims side of that argument.

I said “yes” and “thank you” and pretty much knew what to expect. When you comment publicly, there’s always a price. This “price” has nothing to do with how right or wrong what you say might be or what others really think of what you say. Rarely can others remember your exact words (or what you really looked like) anyway. The price includes one’s anonymity or privacy. Tomorrow I expect to hear some of my coworkers ask me about awful events that occurred years ago or maintain a more healthy distance (until they forget again). A life that was once “normal” was struck in a horrific way, and then allowed to reach some semblance of stasis for a time only to be rocked again. Sometimes the interviews seem like a new form of Chinese water torture. A gentler form of punishment but the memories linger. It’s a constant and cumulative process; the same one that created the grand canyon too. Measure it in tears or one crying family at a time.

There are no “professional victims” out there. This little “club” is constantly growing. Statistics might lull some folks into believing that we don’t need to be as vigilant as we could be. Few persons really believe that bad things will happen to them (or want to). The initiation sure “sucks”. Each meeting, each interview requires some fresh blood. You leave behind some emotional or “meat” each time you re-experience the past.

I don’t watch the evening news with the same perspective as I did before. Newspaper banners and television sound bytes have a distinctly familiar and more personal ring now. Too much so… and having ones name (and picture?) in the papers and being associated with events that occurred during some of the worst days of our lives exacts heavy emotional mileage over time. Few good things come easily.

Each comment or point during an interview begs for equal representation from the other side. Some persons call this “objective coverage”. I won’t say his name to the reporters. Everyone has their own interpretation of what is “fair”. The story eventually begins to revolve around the perpetrator; his name comes up more often (by his defenders) at certain times while victims are often instructed to remain silent until the courts have spoken. Arguments made on behalf of the accused usually trigger the most uncertainty or doubt (or ratings). If only this public posturing were over when the gavel was laid to rest. Appeals and anniversaries go by. You fool yourself into thinking that if you don’t initiate talk on this subject it might all “go away”. Attention is what the perpetrator wants or all he has left to look forward to. Why “feed him”?

If I were a legislator, a lawyer or a used car salesman (some might argue that all these persons are really the same kind of “animal”) a little bit of free publicity might be a good thing. This is not usually the case when you happen to be a relative of a victim of violent crime or someone that has suffered even more directly. Victims of violent crime don’t court the media very often. Too many times what’s mistaken for (or presented as) anger is a real fear that the offender might come back to repeat his crimes (not a desire for revenge). Experience can be an ugly (and mean) teacher.

No one can say for sure that the offender will never harm another person or escape. Years of uncertainty pass. Lawmakers think of full prisons as the problem instead of investing in ways to discourage those that are prone to committing crimes that require incarceration from harming more innocent victims.

You do what you can to advocate for those that are in similar circumstances. You warn those that might find themselves in harms way so that they won’t become another statistic. These problems affect more that a few other people. Hopefully, you can say a few things that they don’t have the time, the patience or words for. Not everyone will listen and there’s no joy in saying “I told you so”. The phone keeps ringing, more violence acts are committed on innocent people and tonight another news segment is aired. Hopefully the world is a tiny bit safer than yesterday or those that come to be harmed are better prepared to deal with it.