Sometimes It Just Gets To Me

Horror.  Disgust.  Fear.  Anger.  I'm sickened as I learn more about the Penn State scandal.

I feel for these victims.  My heart breaks for the children that they were, for what they experienced, and for the memories they’ll always carry with them.

I find it difficult to reserve judgement on those who knew and said nothing.  Or those who knew and didn’t say enough.  Particularly those who were firsthand witnesses.  The physical sickness that must’ve swept over these eyewitnesses, reinforced by the graphic visual, must've surely burned that memory onto their souls.  And yet they failed to act.  

Is it because I’m a parent that I feel so strongly?  If I were childless, could I be certain that I would’ve hurled my puny little body at him, fists a flying?  I hope so.  And would I have been content and clear of conscience in walking away and merely reporting it to my boss?  No.  Absolutely not.

Could there ever be a legitimate reason to cover up something like this?  Did everyone keep quiet because they truly didn’t believe it happened?  Or did they keep quiet because they stood to lose something?  It’s hard not to prejudge.

These were innocent, defenseless kids.  Ten years old.

Ten years old is fourth grade.

 

Ten years old is Spongebob.

Ten years old is Star Wars.

Ten years old is recess.

 There's no debating what ten years old is not.  These men needed to remember that.