Roughly 17 years ago when I was nine years old I read the paper and and realized that a friend of mine had died. It would have been bad enough if I had read his name in the obituaries, I wishing it had been that simple. instead I read his name on the casualty list for a local restaurant shooting, actually it wouldn’t be terribly an accurate to term what happened that day and massacre. My world completely shattered and I screamed,cried and wailed for the next 3 1/2 hours. Even after I became coherent again I planned the absolute destruction of the slimeball for at least the next two years and yes folks by “destruction” I mean murder needless to say I had to go see the school psychologist for several months and I believe I even frightened her. I should make a few things clear at this point. No, I did not murder the aforementioned slimeball, he is currently serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole for 15 counts of murder. Secondly, the friend I mentioned was at my age which is what everybody assumes the first time I tell the story to them. Wesley served in the Army with my mom and died protecting his fiancée and unborn son. I still miss him a lot which is something that I didn’t expect after this much time had gone by. His son is almost 18 now if I’ve done my math right. I never went to Wesley’s funeral although now I can’t tell you why. I can tell you that is one of my deepest regrets that I didn’t insist that my parents take me, the other thing I can say is that Taps plays in my head any time I tell this story which I try to do once a year. Compared to some people my courage is a shallow indeed.