I was at Fenway Park for the annual 11 AM start on Patriots Day. It's been a bit of a hard road for me the last few months but sitting there, hearing the cheering for the runners giving their all in the Boston Marathon from my seat, having the majesty of Fenway in front of me for the first time in a long time, and reveling in a perfect spring Boston day I felt the light shake away my cobwebs and inspiration to post here struck again. And then...horror.
Not until I was in my car and driving home from the game did I hear of the two heinous bombs going off at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Yes, I know the spot of road I was on when I heard it, knowing that it was very likely my train was going underneath that part of Boylston when the all hell broke loose. Numbness, that all too familiar feeling cultivated in the crucible of 9/11, darkness fell. This time it was our turn to be attacked, and the pain and anger spiked with a different kind of intensity. Our holiday, our spectacular civic celebration of the human spirit, charity, endurance, and even provincial spirit had a hole torn through the middle of it. This was personal. Krystle Campbell, Lingzi Lu, Martin Lawrence. Severed limbs, bombs made to maim and destroy life, living hell incarnate.
But from the carnage the strength of our city peeked through; the wonderful emergency response and spirit of our race as people ran selflessly into the fire instead of away (shades of the NYPD and NYFD) and runners kept running to the hospital to donate blood. The countless old New England straight thinkers using lessons learned from the middle east applying life saving simple turn-a-kits.
Carlos Arrendondo. So very many stories of strength and fight and compassion and help heard that very first day, with many many more to come. And even as the smile of a beautiful eight year old little boy became the face of the tragedy broke our hearts over and over a wave of giving began. Fund raising is in our DNA, the Jimmy Fund and Dana Farber cancer research, the Pan Mass Challenge, the Boston freakin Marathon, and now victim survivor funds. Sure there have been frauds, but many more legit enterprises have already
raised millions for those in need with more coming in every day. The
greatest performance of our national anthem.
#Bostonstrong.
Then the FBI showed us their pictures, and insurgent warfare broke out from Cambridge to Watertown and blood ran through streets that have seen so much colonial blood in the past. Lockdown. The cops locked us down and as one we were terrified by the gunfire and homemade grenades going off but determined to get a job done. Some
mocked us, but we believed in our law enforcement and thought with our heads instead of an itchy trigger finger and made the best of it. We played with our kids, prayed for our friends in the towns on the front lines, and maybe had a drinking game or two on the different facial expressions shown by the Boston Police Commissioner during his pressers. When they lifted the ban and told us to be vigilant we were, and of course a boat owner brought an end to the siege. Steven Colbert said it
with laughter, I'll say it with feeling; I'm proud to be part of this hard-ass community. We might ride silently shoulder to shoulder on the morning train but when the chips are down we've proven we'll be there no matter what. That's Boston Strong.
And have you noticed the Red Sox have won seven in a row and are playing like a band of brothers? More on that later.
Until next time,
-The SAHD
