Weep For The Little Ones

On April 19th, 1995, I listened to the sounds of a nation in terror as a building filled with men, women, and children exploded. Who was responsible? It was a cold, hardened face that we learned to fear: The face of Timothy McVeigh. The nation came together to offer its condolences to the families that lost their loved ones.

Tears mingled with the blood of one killer.
The nation wept.
I did not.
I don't know why.

I sat next to my mother and listened to the news of how two young men from Columbine High School ruthlessly ended the lives of several of their classmates. Images of faces filled with pain, sorrow, and rage pervaded television screens across America.

Tears mingled with the cries of those who were blamed.
The nation wept.
I did not.
I don't know why.

Millions of Americans screamed along with the men and women who died at the hands of terrorists during September 11th, 2001. The towers crumbled along with our feelings of security. We reacted out of fear. Then out of anger. And then we came together in one of the most powerful displays of patriotism ever seen. We are constantly reminded of that horrific day. Americans held each other and cried as they remembered those who died, and those who were still trapped in a prison of rubble.

Tears mingled with the blood of those responsible.
The nation wept.
I did not.
I don't know why.

The severity of a crime seems to be contingent with the number of lives lost. The greater the number, the greater the tragedy. For many, this is simple logic.

Where would he be right now -
The innocent black kid from the ghetto who was shot by a gang, simply because of a case of a mistaken identity?

Would he be dating a pretty girl -
The little boy who was repeatedly raped, tortured, and then killed by the madman?

Would she experience that trembling joy from her first kiss, had she not been run over by the neighborhood drunk?

The tears of broken families go unnoticed all too often. As you're reading this, another mother's heart is shattered. But what of the children whose parents do not cry for them? What of the cruel, heartless monsters that deserve nothing less than an eternity of agony? Who will cry for the children whose parents slaughter them merely because of finances?

What of the death of Kristen Tatar, whose parents starved her to death for exactly those reasons? If not her parents, who will cry for the innocent life that was lost? Who will cry for the child whose body was placed in a coffin of plastic bags and a cooler? Is there nobody else who will break down and cry for her?

The nation has not wept.
Where are the tears?

I am blinded by mine.
And I don't know why.

Uploaded 06/12/2008
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