Kids, and their parents

Every Time They Leave the House

By Rick Horowitz

It was a sunny Saturday morning after a long Friday night, and I was driving back upstate to my job as a summer-camp counselor. The sun was strong, and the road was clear, but I was having trouble staying awake on minimal sleep, so I pulled off the road to stretch my teenaged legs and make a phone call.

This was in prehistoric times -- pre-cell phone, that is -- and I found a phone booth and dialed that most familiar number; in seconds my mother and father were on the line. Just calling for a quick chat, I told them -- and yeah, I am kind of struggling to keep my eyes open. We talked for a minute or two, and then I said goodbye and climbed back into the car.

A couple of hours later, I'd made it safely back to camp. Everything was fine, I'd rediscovered my counselor rhythms -- and it never even occurred to me to call my parents again to let them know. It must have been a full week before I took myself to another phone booth, made another phone call.

A week when my parents were pretty much out of their minds with worry.

Which, at the time, I couldn't begin to understand. And now, years later, I understand only too well.

It's so different when you're the parent. You worry every time they leave the house. You never stop worrying.

And then something like Virginia Tech happens, and your nightmares, your fevered fantasies, are suddenly somebody's awful realities. Your heart weeps for those parents, for all those lives forever shattered by the news from Blacksburg. You can only imagine what they're going through. But you can imagine it.

It's what parents do.

* * *

The only thing missing is video of the killings themselves -- or is that still to come? Is there another package still working its way through the postal system, about to land at another newsroom door?

Or was the killer too busy shooting to do any shooting?

What there is in that first package is more than enough. Dozens of video clips and stills. Audio clips, and pages and pages of incoherent rages. There's no way it wouldn't make it onto the air, of course, played over and over again. There's no way it wouldn't make it onto the Web. But that was the whole idea -- a never-ending rant, delivering never-ending hurt to the parents, to the siblings, to friends, to survivors. A temper tantrum, with bullets.

It's mass murder for a wired time, for a wired generation. And it won't be the last one, either. The technology is too simple, too attractive to ignore. Digital immortality calls, and it's harder and harder to resist. YouTube becomes YouKill, and the only question is: When?

* * *

You worry every time they leave the house. You never stop worrying.

Posted 4/21/07. Get award-winning commentary right here at "Rick's"!

Rick Horowitz is a syndicated columnist, TV commentator, writing coach and public speaker.

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