I momentarily felt a shudder at the site of this predator, not out of any sense of personal danger, since what raptor would bother with an old man who is over the hill when younger, sweeter food is available nearby? (Well, not literally over the hill at that particular moment, but on top of the hill, but you get the drift.)
No, what I was feeling was what it must be like to be a mouse or other small creature, hearing that scream high overhead and sensing that wingspan, those talons, those eagle eyes, that beak that tears.
I suppose part of my instinctive response was protective of my daughter, but rationally, no bird could represent a threat to her, either. Though only 12, she is tall, strong, and athletic and could easily swipe that hawk out of the air and send it tumbling into the dirt if she wanted to.
Of course, she would never do such a thing, because she loves animals -- much more than I do -- and volunteers at the SPCA to protect them, whereas her Dad has a checkered career as a hunter and fisherman, things I should probably admit to her someday, even though it will lessen me in her eyes.
***
Out front of my house, the memorial to my fallen neighbor grows. When I got home tonight, a man was crying and wailing, as other men drank beer and bore witness. The candles and flowers continue to arrive.
The pain felt by those who loved him is palpable on this block. He has two young daughters who now no longer have a Dad. His mother sits on her porch forlorn and aging rapidly.
A guy I know well at the corner store stood outside today looking sad. I gave him a hug. His eyes filled with tears.
What can you say at a time like this?
I also watched my athletic son play soccer today -- his high school team won again, that's three in a row, and this looks to be a very promising season. He very nearly scored anther goal after getting his first the other day.
So much hope and so much hopelessness, all in the same day. The soccer coach told me that he is counting on my son to help some of the Latino kids on the team develop better study habits and improve their grades.
Every day there is a mandatory study hall for the kids who want to play soccer. This is a good thing, I think, although it extends their schooldays to ten or eleven hours most days, and causes me to have to do a lot more driving than I would want to do.
But that's a small price to pay if my son, who is an A student, can help other kids who otherwise might fail become C students. The incentive is soccer. Anyone who doesn't think race and class is still a major factor in who succeeds and who doesn't in this society isn't paying attention.
Sports are great, and it's fun to watch my kid compete and be successful. But I value his work as a fellow student helping other students do better in school far more.
Because all of these kids -- black, white, Latino, Asian -- are "our" kids. They represent our future. The kids who murdered my neighbor are, by police reports, very young Latino kids, perhaps very much like the ones my son works with in study hall to help stay in school and get their diploma.
Some join gangs, are given guns by older men, and earn their stripes by murdering people like my neighbor. Others stay in school, get better grades, earn a diploma, and get a job.
The difference between one outcome or the other can be razor thin, for teenagers.
Those who think we exist on a level playing field are delusional. This society remains deeply biased when it comes to race or class or even gender. The greatest compliment I can pay to my son is he knows that and he cares about that. He has a big heart.
Meanwhile, he's also an extremely competitive athlete, which just happens to give him credibility in the eyes of those kids who are failing in the classroom but will listen to an upperclassman about why it's important to study and learn.
We all should be studying and learning. Maybe most of all, those of us who enjoy the privilege of not being from poor, minority communities. Maybe we are the ones who finally should start trying harder to become real Americans, instead of blaming others for being poor, for turning out how our system dictates they should turn out, as failures.
-30-
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