Last December, I wrote that Homeland Security led a multi-agency raid on a house distressingly near ours. It occurred so closely you could feel the battering ram vibrating in our home. Not hyperbole, by the way. Interested in reading about my pre-dawn wake the hell up call? Check it here. We learned late in March that the Feds were acting on information suggesting (and later proving) one of the homeowners was in possession of child pornography. What the actual fuck is so broken in an adult male that he derives sexual gratification from viewing photos of boys, including toddlers, forced into sexual activity? No words could express my disgust; I’ve tried, yet they don’t come. The WTAF above is as near as I’ve been able.
Today (now yesterday) was the first genuinely beautiful spring day here. We retrieved our patio furniture from their winter home high in the garage rafters, and after assembling and cleaning, I enjoyed some time in bliss: sitting outdoors, reading and singing along with the cardinals and sparrows. There was a shindig at the neighbors’ place this afternoon, like a PARTY, and I don’t know why (well, OK, I sort of do) it bothered me so, but it did. Soaking up the warmth, simmering in my disgust, the party, to me, the mother of two pre-teen boys who live doors away from a man whose child porn collection was so extensive as to warrant a pre-dawn federal raid, felt inappropriate. Judgey, who me? Yep. This time, I’ll surrender to that accusation. You betcha. Per the local news outlets, the guilty party is home on a GPS-monitored anklet until sentencing, and party, apparently is the operative word. And it’s not like an innocent until proven guilty thing–I’m not one for violating one’s US Constitutional rights nor am I playing judge and jury–it’s a done deal. He’s not reported to be a perpetrator of sexual violence toward children, only in possession of such images. Which is what? Like the least bad guy in hell?
Later on, oh let’s say right about now hypothetically, I
felt feel conflicted that I harbored ill will toward the hosts and party-goers. Maybe it’s his last days until he gets locked up, and his loved ones are sending him out BBQ style. I watch Orange is the New Black; I know that non-violent offenders can sometimes delay the start of their sentence like Piper did. (Editor’s Note: it’s probably best not to base your knowledge of the criminal justice system based on OITNB and old Law & Order reruns). Who am I to judge? Oh wait, we already covered that (see paragraph above if my train wreck of thought is confounding you–you’d not be the first to need a road map through my rants and raves, or as I like to call them, observations). Sometimes I am a reactionary for jumping ugly quickly, but other times I am a naif for granting the undeserving too much leeway. Maybe I’m just a decent person who (foolishly) persists in believing in good and second chances. Or maybe it’s none of my business. It forced us to have “the talk” again with our children, so there’s that silver lining.
Because it was so lovely, I began my Couch-to-5K for about the fifth time today. Sixth. Maybe seventh, but really, who’s counting? I am no spring chicken and still have potential to be physically fit, so I run/walk until I can run. I’m not going to lie though, friends. It’s tougher each spring, and I SWEAR I can hear my joints jostling as bone slams into bone during those run intervals. I know for a fact my heart was near to beating right out of my shirt. But I did it. My 800th or whatever Day 1 of running happened. I run because I can, and sometimes when I’m certain I cannot go one single step further, I think that my kid can’t run a 5K. So I persevere. Not really for him, but to remind myself and maybe demonstrate to my child(ren) through my actions that we can do hard things through exceptional effort, and that the effort is worth it. My husband was at baseball practice with Junior, Jr. and he texted me “how was your run?” when I got home. Here’s my reply.
I hate running, but I love having run. Yep. Exalted, y’all.