Military helicopters flew overhead on our walk today. I threw my middle fingers at them, then pointed to my Chinga La Migra t-shirt, then cowardly hid under tree branches. It reminded me of the fighter jets taking off from Des Moines to bomb Iraq and how they roared over the Little League fields while my young sons played baseball. They knew what was going on. They knew violence was part of the show. When they looked at me, I could only give them a sorry shrug. I know the black helicopters spinning harsh blades against the blue sky this morning flew over the same fields, scarring different kids. Children everywhere should not have to witness the cruelty of leaders.
In a Word 