Meet me in St. Louis

Saturday. Sofa. Coffee.

As it turns out, my sofa this week is in St. Louis.  I hope we get to look around town a little before we hitch up the wagons and head west  seeking a better life.  The giant Gateway Arch, the Gateway to the West, was surreal, looking more like a giant croquet wicket to the West as we motored into town last night.  For a moment I pictured Vulcan standing next to it with mallet in hand, in a sister-cities kind of joint effort between St. Louis and Birmingham.   Something to think about.  I've wanted to see the Gateway Arch up close since I first read about it in a fascinating "Weekly Reader" article a few years ago.  It is impressive, even from a few blocks away. Perhaps I can convince my traveling companions to indulge me and make closer inspection.

Our mini wagon-train of a 4-Runner and an Outback are on a one way road trip to Denver as my son, his wife, and my two month old grandson are moving there to pursue a wonderful career opportunity. The dad in me is proud of their achievements, but the grand-dad in me is sad to see my brand new grandson move so far away.  So, the offer to be a driver on this long trip was immediately accepted as  a great opportunity to get to spend some time with them on the way to the west.  And so far it has been.

I got my coffee this morning and sat down to watch a little news before I started writing.  As it turns out, crowds are gathering in St. Louis this morning and will grow for the rest of the day.  It is not to see the Gateway Arch.

It is a day of protest.  The protesters are gathering a few blocks away for the "Justice for All" march to bring attention to the now nationally famous case of Michael Brown, who was killed during an encounter with a policeman in nearby Ferguson. The crowds are protesting the killing itself,  the reaction of the law enforcement and justice system to Brown's death, and other similar cases throughout the country.

I have an opinion about Michael Brown's death.  But opinions so often get in the way.  And that is not what is on my mind this morning.

During the news coverage of the events at Ferguson several photographs of Michael Brown were displayed, over and over again.  They showed a young man of a large size, but with a face that looked more like a junior high kid. .His mother and father, family and friends were interviewed and their grief for their loss was on national display. Stories of Brown's life and personality filled out the picture.

 Michael Brown was not perfect. Nor was he a demon.

He was just a kid.

A son.

So today, as I look out the hotel window toward where the protesting crowds will gather I offer an awful prayer.  A prayer for Michael Brown's parents and their grief.

And a prayer of thanksgiving for my sons, my daughter-in-law and my grandson. And I feel guilty for that. Because I don't have to live in the fears known too commonly by the protesters in St. Louis today.

But guilt is a useless balm that convinces us that our self-inflicted punishment is action enough.

But it is not.  Guilt will never change anything.

But something or somebody must. Change something.

So anyway.  Time to load up.  Gotta make Salina by Bama kick-off. Westward Ho the wagons.  Have a good Saturday.  Love your children today.

And everyone else's too.

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