Wednesday, December 5, 2007
A gun and a victim you know
When I was 13, another kid stuck a loaded .45 caliber handgun in my face. I saw him shove the clip in first - then point the gun it at me. He did it for maybe 30 seconds. I still see it in my mind sometimes.
But I never knew someone who died of a gunshot before. So, when they buried Sean Taylor Monday, my mind raced. The Reverand Jesse Jackson preached against gun violence and for "choosing life". I nodded in agreement, sitting on my couch. But I didn't know Sean.
I kept thinking about the young man behind the lunch counter around the corner in my neighborhood - the man they buried the same day the Redskins number 21 died.
His name was Tim Spicer. And he worked at Ben's Chili Bowl. He was just one year older than Sean, 25. And I saw him almost every day - in the front window, over where the half smokes get grilled up. And he was always grinning. ALWAYS.
When I read the news story on Tim while copy editing scripts - I knew it was him before I even finished. I didn't know about his beloved Chevy Caprice (the one the carjackers took before they shot him) , about his rap lyric writing, or t-shirt designs. He was just the kid in the Nats cap, joking with Maurice and Jermaine in front of the deep fryer. I instantly liked all those guys when I went into Ben's the SAME DAY I moved into the neighborhood . In fact, sometimes I stick my head in, just to hear what's the on juke box, or to feel the rush of positive energy you immediately get from the folks at Ben's.
They joked with me the last time I was in - because I bussed my own table. Jermaine asked me why ... and I said "because I feel like part of the family here, gimme a white shirt and I'll jump behind the counter" ! We all laughed.
When I left, Tim called me "Todd". Now, we always said hello. But it struck me - because I'm not sure he'd ever seen me on T.V. And I wouldn't really have expected him to know my name. I thought - I should talk to him more the next time I'm in here - he's always smiling like he knows something - something good!
I haven't been in Ben's lately, not since I saw the handwritten sign on the door announcing the candlelight vigil, the viewing, and the funeral service. I can't even look in the window yet.
I never knew someone who died of a gunshot before. I don't want to know any more.
But I never knew someone who died of a gunshot before. So, when they buried Sean Taylor Monday, my mind raced. The Reverand Jesse Jackson preached against gun violence and for "choosing life". I nodded in agreement, sitting on my couch. But I didn't know Sean.
I kept thinking about the young man behind the lunch counter around the corner in my neighborhood - the man they buried the same day the Redskins number 21 died.
His name was Tim Spicer. And he worked at Ben's Chili Bowl. He was just one year older than Sean, 25. And I saw him almost every day - in the front window, over where the half smokes get grilled up. And he was always grinning. ALWAYS.
When I read the news story on Tim while copy editing scripts - I knew it was him before I even finished. I didn't know about his beloved Chevy Caprice (the one the carjackers took before they shot him) , about his rap lyric writing, or t-shirt designs. He was just the kid in the Nats cap, joking with Maurice and Jermaine in front of the deep fryer. I instantly liked all those guys when I went into Ben's the SAME DAY I moved into the neighborhood . In fact, sometimes I stick my head in, just to hear what's the on juke box, or to feel the rush of positive energy you immediately get from the folks at Ben's.
They joked with me the last time I was in - because I bussed my own table. Jermaine asked me why ... and I said "because I feel like part of the family here, gimme a white shirt and I'll jump behind the counter" ! We all laughed.
When I left, Tim called me "Todd". Now, we always said hello. But it struck me - because I'm not sure he'd ever seen me on T.V. And I wouldn't really have expected him to know my name. I thought - I should talk to him more the next time I'm in here - he's always smiling like he knows something - something good!
I haven't been in Ben's lately, not since I saw the handwritten sign on the door announcing the candlelight vigil, the viewing, and the funeral service. I can't even look in the window yet.
I never knew someone who died of a gunshot before. I don't want to know any more.
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