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I haven’t been blogging much lately. Every time I sat down at my desk with the intention to write a post, our now nine-month-old Vader laid down at my feet and looked at me with his puppy eyes. Perfect dog owners don’t grow on trees, they are carefully trained by their dogs -and I knew I had to spend more time with him.
The episode of “A Million little things” two weeks ago, shows a black gathering with family and friends. There is laughter, people pick at each other, the way we all do when we have a good time. A young teenage boy joins them, his face is earnest. When asked what is going on, he turns his phone around, and shows the rest of he people a video he just saw online.
I feel your anger my blood is boiling too, yet, at the moment I will see looting my support goes away. It could be my property, my house, my car. I worked for it, nobody has the right to take violently away what’s mine. There was a time when I didn’t have much. Nothing was given to me.
Some things only happen on TV. The bad things, even when based on a true story, never happen in our own neighborhoods. We live in a safe cocoon. Crime and violence happen somewhere else, until one day when it sets foot in your own neighborhood.
I grew up with the words “if you are ever lost or in trouble, try to find a policeman” and it made sense to me. We had two policemen in our small village, one was an Italian Carabinieri, the other one an Austrian Gendarm. Both didn’t have too much to do, nothing dramatic ever happened, at least nothing that I can recall.