My Plea

There is a certain feeling that comes upon me just about every day. You know that feeling, like when you’re chewing on a nice hunk of juicy steak and you suddenly realize that last piece you swallowed should have been chewed a few more times, as it becomes lodged in your throat? Or that sense of sudden panic when the 300lb. washer you’re hauling down the stairs works itself loose from the dolly and begins to slip to one side? Perhaps you have attempted to retrieve some box from a shelf and just as it clears the lip of the rack it was resting upon you comprehend that its weight is five times that of your maximum lifting strength? Maybe you’ve had that realization that you have swum out slightly further than you thought, which necessitates much better physical conditioning than you possess? Almost every day folks, when I read a story about a child being abused, beaten, murdered, or neglected, this overwhelming feeling of utter hopelessness for our society rushes to my senses. My only glimmer of optimism is that those of you that read these words do whatever small deeds you can in your daily lives to end this insanity.