compassion

I was asked to write an essay for an elementary school on bullying. I polled some people I know whom have children and I still came up blank. Not having first hand experience, I was nowhere close to writing something I knew nothing about in this day and age. Kids have it rough. Much harder it seems then when I was growing up. I had to decline, and in doing so, I started remembering in grade school who was deemed the bully. Besides that, there wasn't  too much of labeling done which I can recall. 

Like so many of you,  I watched my computer screen yesterday, mesmerized by the horrific images that flooded before me from half way across the world. The news was sketchy at first: Muammar Quaddafi, the ruthless Libyan dictator, sworn enemy of democracy, had been wounded in a rebel attack, pulled from a drainage pipe where bleeding and incoherent, he stumbled through crowds of rebels in a scene of chaos. The final image I saw of his head, bloodied, pale and inert- was snapped from someone’s s cell phone, and left little doubt the reports were true. Muammer Quaddafi was dead. 

Ignorant Americans…I know that is what MUCH of the world thinks of us, and often, that is true.

From the safety of my ergonomic chair,  the only seemingly real conflict in my world at that particular moment, was between myself and a set of architectural blueprints that had been bloodied by the redlines of my felt-tipped pen. By 5:00 PM, the final outcome of our battle was still unclear. I expect it will be resumed in a few hours with a new plan of attack.