I was raised in a home where we had family dinners every night. We talked. We fought. We laughed. And, yes, my brothers and I were disciplined. I don’t recall ever having a conversation predicated on fear.

As I sat last week contemplating my column topic, I couldn’t take pen to paper composing anything about the horrific mass shooting in a Florida school that week. It was too raw. It was made all too real by the impassioned stories told by those present. I was amazed by the articulate young people able to communicate so bravely, express so meaningfully what they had been through and how they felt about it. I’m sure, like many of you, I realized that my tears were flowing as I sat watching and listening to them.

(0) comments

Welcome to the discussion.

Keep it Clean. Please avoid obscene, vulgar, lewd, racist or sexually-oriented language.
PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR CAPS LOCK.
Don't Threaten. Threats of harming another person will not be tolerated.
Be Truthful. Don't knowingly lie about anyone or anything.
Be Nice. No racism, sexism or any sort of -ism that is degrading to another person.
Be Proactive. Use the 'Report' link on each comment to let us know of abusive posts.
Share with Us. We'd love to hear eyewitness accounts, the history behind an article.