Not too long ago in a land not too far away I hopped aboard the Caltrain heading back to San Francisco after spending a day in the Palo Alto area. Sometimes I like heights so I climbed the staircase to the second tier. The train rolled north, stopped to pick up commuters and such as commuter trains do and, in a few miles, the car was full of people whose laps were filled with screens aglow; in the entire car, one person stared into a paperback. And one person stared at the others staring at the immediacy in front of them.
Maybe I should've been looking out the window at the world going by, or into the face of the person nearest me, too.
Three years ago, today, the unthinkable happened in a small, country town in southwestern Connecticut. On a morning like any other in Sandy Hook, 20 children and seven adults (the shooter included) perished. Looking at the photos of the children, it's impossible; this could not happen. Yet, an act of unthinkable tragedy hasn't completely sobered up a nation -- or, at least, many elected officials -- to the fact that we need to redress laws originally written to serve the people. The irony is that once we begin to serve laws written to serve us, our inherent human freedoms are truly in jeopardy.