Heat, Horror, and Hope

The last two weeks have been tough. The temperatures have broken 80 year heat records with several days of over 100 degrees. When you add the humidity in, the heat index reached 110 on some days. Lack of rain adds to the misery; the air is both muggy and dusty which makes being outdoors very uncomfortable, as well as dangerous to some people. Most of the Kentucky corn crop is gone, as dry and brown as the grass in everyone’s yard. As I write this, I am watching a news story in our county that we usually associate with states to the west of us. As I was taking the grandkids to piano lessons this afternoon we encountered a barrage of firetrucks and smoke so thick on the highway that I literally could not see to drive. A tractor had sparked a field fire which turned into a fast spreading wild fire that they are final process of containing tonight. Volunteer fire departments, as well as trucks from nearby counties and cities were called in and many other local people came with shovels and pails to help dig trenches and water down property. Over 200 acres have been burned and several houses had to be evacuated, one of my cousins on dad’s side among them. Thankfully, no homes have been burned and no one fighting the fire was injured. All this on top of the local bank in our small town being robbed on Saturday and suddenly small town life doesn’t seem so peaceful.

Last week a violent act tore at everyone’s heart and filled me with horror, when an eleven year old boy in another part of the county was shot in the head by a shotgun; killed by a fifteen year old, supposedly over a video game. And other young people had to witness the aftermath before adults arrived on the scene. It was especially hard for me, because I knew some of the ones involved and the young boy who was killed was the same age as my oldest grandson. It makes it really hit home when you associate it with your own loved ones. I know that most people say, “Guns don’t kill people; people kill people”, but if young kids could not get their hands on guns owned by adults, some tragedies like this would never happen.

In the midst of everything else, however, there were bright spots that raised my spirits and gave me hope. Things like my daughter calling, all excited because her new boyfriend sent her flowers at work. Like joining the grandkids in baking a cake and decorating for a “surprise” birthday party for their dad (his 30th). Like going out to watch the elementary football team practice, expecting to have to bite my tongue and come away angry because I would hear the coaches yelling and swearing at the kids. Instead all I heard were words of encouragement and guidance.
This is the first year that my grandson in the 6th grade has played football and he has made me proud by how hard he is throwing himself into it; he is more the video game, couch potato type. I had memories that were not too good from when my son played in grade school. My son had to remind me of one funny (in retrospect) incident from his playing days. I was so against him playing elementary football because I didn’t want my “baby” to be hurt. He started playing in the 3rd grade and I worried all that year and into the 4th grade. Meanwhile his older sister had joined the cheerleading team, which didn’t seem to worry me much. She talked my son into helping her practice cheers in their grandparents backyard one day and he fell off her back and broke his arm! He said after that I told him he could play all the football he wanted, but he could never go out for cheerleading!!!