There but for the grace of God go I
>In light of this morning's tragic events in Oroville, it is time for me to thank a couple people who helped me put this weblog together. With the trust and assitance of Ryan Olson, the web content and David Little, editors for the Chico Enterprise-Record, I'm able to write about what bugs me, and for that I am most appreciative.
This morning I talked to one of the mothers whose child was apparently held hostage at Las Plumas High School. While worried about her daughter and making arrangements to get her home, she made the point that she felt the boy that allegedly instigated these events should get help to deal with what made him do this, but that likely he will simply be thrown in jail and left to rot.
This is what I fear as well. What will apparently happen is that Greg Wright will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, and will be involved with the criminal justice system for the rest of his life. The problem here is that he did not just wake up this morning and say, “I think I will go to school and fire a few shots and take a few people hostage just for drill”.
As one who can honestly say “There but for the grace of God go I”, I've dealt with this frustration. Having written a few sonnets about these types of shootings, I will post a couple here later. We can thank my parents, who kept me locked up in my room for the first 22 years of my life. I was raised with canines as brothers and sisters, by guardians who were both addicts, and made my youth uncertain and isolated from society, but because of that I am here today.
My mother was a practicing alcoholic, addicted to diet, pain, and sleeping pills, and smoked three packs of cigarettes a day. My father was a hard-working carpenter who drank beer regularly. As they would drive from one bar to another in Alameda County on the weekend, I would ride under the window line in the back seat. Between them, I learned nearly every English curse word before I was five years old, and most of them were directed at me.
School, libraries, books, and my imagination saved my bacon at home. With the aid of those institutions, I got fledgling armor which helped me to survive as a solo man. In school I was emotionally constipated though, and was often the brunt of youthful cruelty. It was hard to make friends, so I went without. I did the best job I could to survive, for the most part unscathed.
Alcohol equals pain, and so I chose from the jump to abstain from this poison. I have never taken illegal drugs either, because control is important. The lesson my family taught was that use of this crap leads to a loss of control and more pain than I needed to deal with then or now. But my solution was unique.
I am sure that Greg Wright did not want to be photographed in the back of a sheriff's car this morning. Since that shot is now on the Internet, he will be branded with it for the rest of his life. But I suspect that the people who drove him into that situation are happy, and will see none of the bad life this boy will be in for. What the mother and I agreed on this morning is that they should get some of the same punishment.