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Why I'm reading about Columbine now
Whatever you think you know about the Columbine High School shooting, you’re probably wrong. That’s not the point of this post, but it is the conclusion I’ve already come to based on the book I’m reading on the subject. The book came out in 2010 but I only found out about it recently and it hasn’t been sitting on my shelf very long at all. I wasn’t sure what made me pick it up recently. At first I thought maybe it had something to do with the movie shooting in Aurora, but that didn’t feel right. Nonetheless, I dove into the book and, less than 100 pages in, I discovered the real reason.
I remember the shooting; most people do, I imagine. It’s not like 9/11 for me; I couldn’t tell you exactly where I was or what was going on with me at the time, but I remember watching it unfold on television. I was living in Las Vegas then and was young and self-absorbed. I had never been to Denver, but my brother and sister-in-law lived in Littleton so the name of the town was at least passingly familiar. I remember watching in stunned silence, not believing what I was seeing, unable to imagine what it must have been like to be inside that school when everything went crazy. Then, it was over. It hadn’t struck me personally, so I shook my head and mentally walked away from it.
Later that year, in November, I drove a good friend out to Denver for his wedding. A friend of the bride and groom was the son of the principal of Columbine and, at one point, I found myself standing in his finished basement. It became personal then. Or at least, it became very, very real to me. The basement was full of framed photos, cards and newspaper clippings and the centerpiece to everything was a beautiful, etched glass memorial listing the names of those killed that bright April day. I fully understood, perhaps for the first time, that deep, heavy-hearted feeling you get when the emotion and empathy is just too much. When the weight of sadness, especially for someone else, especially for people you don’t know, presses down so hard on your chest that for a moment, you can’t fill your lungs. We often use “breath-taking” as a positive expression. In my experience, it usually is, but not always.
I had just caught my breath when Frank DeAngelis himself came down the stairs to speak to his son. Bryant introduced me and I had no idea what to say. I was young, emotionally stunned and temporarily overwhelmed, and face-to-face with someone, a stranger, whom I suddenly had a surge of respect, admiration, and crushing sadness for. Barely six months had passed; how raw that wound must still have been for him. I found my voice, shook his hand, and told him I was honored to meet him. In retrospect, perhaps a strange thing to say, but it was 100% truthful at the time and still is today. It may have only been a moment, one he surely wouldn’t remember, but I will never forget it. He smiled, genuinely, warmly, but that deep ache behind his eyes was unmistakable and I can still clearly visualize it to this day. I was struck, then, by how amazingly strong he was. His world had been totally shattered and yet he was continuing on. He remains, to this day, the principal at Columbine. I was awed and humbled by him. I still am.
It is a reminder and a further appreciation for and understanding of that strength that I think I’m looking for in this book. My career is leading me down a path where it is very likely I will need it. Maybe, if I’m very lucky, a little bit of it passed from him into me, via that brief handshake in a Colorado basement, one chilly Novermber day, almost 13 years ago.
I remember the shooting; most people do, I imagine. It’s not like 9/11 for me; I couldn’t tell you exactly where I was or what was going on with me at the time, but I remember watching it unfold on television. I was living in Las Vegas then and was young and self-absorbed. I had never been to Denver, but my brother and sister-in-law lived in Littleton so the name of the town was at least passingly familiar. I remember watching in stunned silence, not believing what I was seeing, unable to imagine what it must have been like to be inside that school when everything went crazy. Then, it was over. It hadn’t struck me personally, so I shook my head and mentally walked away from it.
Later that year, in November, I drove a good friend out to Denver for his wedding. A friend of the bride and groom was the son of the principal of Columbine and, at one point, I found myself standing in his finished basement. It became personal then. Or at least, it became very, very real to me. The basement was full of framed photos, cards and newspaper clippings and the centerpiece to everything was a beautiful, etched glass memorial listing the names of those killed that bright April day. I fully understood, perhaps for the first time, that deep, heavy-hearted feeling you get when the emotion and empathy is just too much. When the weight of sadness, especially for someone else, especially for people you don’t know, presses down so hard on your chest that for a moment, you can’t fill your lungs. We often use “breath-taking” as a positive expression. In my experience, it usually is, but not always.
I had just caught my breath when Frank DeAngelis himself came down the stairs to speak to his son. Bryant introduced me and I had no idea what to say. I was young, emotionally stunned and temporarily overwhelmed, and face-to-face with someone, a stranger, whom I suddenly had a surge of respect, admiration, and crushing sadness for. Barely six months had passed; how raw that wound must still have been for him. I found my voice, shook his hand, and told him I was honored to meet him. In retrospect, perhaps a strange thing to say, but it was 100% truthful at the time and still is today. It may have only been a moment, one he surely wouldn’t remember, but I will never forget it. He smiled, genuinely, warmly, but that deep ache behind his eyes was unmistakable and I can still clearly visualize it to this day. I was struck, then, by how amazingly strong he was. His world had been totally shattered and yet he was continuing on. He remains, to this day, the principal at Columbine. I was awed and humbled by him. I still am.
It is a reminder and a further appreciation for and understanding of that strength that I think I’m looking for in this book. My career is leading me down a path where it is very likely I will need it. Maybe, if I’m very lucky, a little bit of it passed from him into me, via that brief handshake in a Colorado basement, one chilly Novermber day, almost 13 years ago.