Tim Willert's article on the playground equipment really hit home for
me. My son was nearly killed in an after-school fight while attending
Rosemont a few years back. Eighth grade is a "killer" year.
There is such a sense of shock accompanying any brush with death. I
think sometimes the only way to get in touch with it is with the
"little" things. These little things, I believe, are what make reality
real. It is the aftermath described, with the comments of the children
and parents, that make this horrifying incident hit those of us who
didn't personally know the children or families involved.
It is the traditional children's slide and the drinking fountain
tainted with blood that speak to us of the life-or-death struggle that
was finally lost -- lost not only by those who died, but by those who
survived.
What about the families of the boys who did this? How can they live
with the guilt and shame they must survive? And what about the young boys
who crossed lines that have changed their lives forever?
Since this horror happened, I've been haunted by the commonplace
memories of the boys that I've seen skateboarding and walking the streets
of La Crescenta on any day. My son used to do the same thing. I wonder if
I might have seen those boys on some occasion, maybe going home or to
visit a friend. Maybe I even saw one or all of them on Sunday. How could
anyone have known? How can anyone live with this tragedy? I suppose the
playground equipment must be replaced. But it must also be remembered, at
least symbolically.
What will be done with the drinking fountain that once provided a
little soothing water after a thrilling ride on the slide?
And what happens to the safety mat that was used to cushion so many
daring landings?
Surely, it's not a place to die, and not a place for dreams to die.
Cheryl White
La Crescenta
