While last week’s senseless Dark Knight Rising massacre in a Colorado theater has everyone talking about gun control, mental illness and alleged shooter James Holmes’s failed educational exploits, I have to admit: I’m still a little stuck on how many babies were in the midnight showing that ended in mayhem and murder.
First off, let me be very clear: My bringing this up does not negate my anger toward the killer, my sympathy for the victims or my empathy for the parents whose children were hurt and killed in the melee; I pray there is justice in the case and that Holmes pays the ultimate price for his reign of terror on innocents who were senselessly cut down while enjoying one of our nation’s simplest pleasures: taking in a movie.
Still, I believe there is room for questions, a myriad of observations and a full range of emotions at times like these, when our nation’s collective consciousness is challenged. And I have to tell you, I’m sure I’m not the only one wondering why in the world there were little babies and under-aged kids at a violent, loud, PG-13 Batman movie in the middle of the night, when they should have been tucked in their beds with their stuffed animals and blankies, visions of Doc McStuffins and Dora dancing in their heads.
To be fair, I get it: I have kids. Life changed when they were born. Babysitters were expensive. My parents lived in another state so convenient, free, family help was pretty much non-existent. Concessions had to be made. None of them really welcomed, but all of them, in our home, completely necessary. Late night bar hops became 2 a.m. breastfeedings, quiet dinners at elegant restaurants became early suppers at kid-friendly eateries, romantic vacations for two took a backseat to family jaunts to the zoo…
Read the entire story by Denene Millner at: My Brown Baby
