Part 1: When I was a kid, we pulled pranks. We smashed pumpkins, toilet papered yards, threw eggs and bologna, vandalized, burned things, set off stink bombs, switched the salt and sugar, and deflated tires. One time we took the tires completely off and left the car on cinder blocks. We told the freshmen we were dressing in 80s prom dresses for our next Psyche Party, and watched them enter in pink taffeta while we sat laughing in our jeans and t-shirts. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not exactly sorry either; most of them were meant to be playful, not malicious.

Part 2: I was watching the news the other day, and a near hopeless woman was speaking about how difficult it is to teach children when living in an active war zone. The children ask her, “What’s the point of learning if we could die today?” That knocked the wind out of me. The next day, I’m watching this girl, living in the same war zone and standing where her house is now a pile of rubble, crying and asking, “What am I supposed to do? I am only 10 years old.” This is actually happening 6,000 miles away from me, while I sit quietly at my table in my peaceful home, listening to my 9 year-old daughter play, in our safe neighborhood.

I grew up in what felt like a safe town. We didn’t worry about locking things up, or playing outside unsupervised. My bike was stolen from our shed, our house was burglarized in the middle of the day, and a friend of ours was kidnapped from his house. Those rocked me quite a bit, but I still felt safe.

I have an older brother who joined the Army. When he returned home in 1990, I felt extra safe knowing he was around and looking out for me. He was called to war in January 1991, so then he was looking out for all of us. I was in sixth grade when the Gulf War began. We held a sit-in in the middle school gym. This was our first real-time exposure to war, so our sit-in wasn’t very productive considering none of us really knew what was going on, so we didn’t know what to do or what to ask for. We just knew it didn’t feel right, and it certainly didn’t seem fair that our older siblings were going off to war in some country we’d never even heard of. But as that war was fought far, far away, we continued to go to school, play our sports, watch our TVs, and sleep in our comfy beds in our quiet little town.

After college I moved to Baltimore where I tried my best to teach the youngsters of the inner-city public schools. I came to realize that these children were growing up in a war zone of their own. Children can’t focus on learning if they don’t feel safe. Based on Maslow’s theory, children can’t focus on much of anything if this basic need isn’t met. After four overwhelming years, I just couldn’t handle the amount of fear and anxiety that enveloped those kids anymore, so I quit and moved. I needed to find solitude and live somewhere where I could find peace and still believe there was happiness. It took some time to decompress. I hardened over time, and needed to soften up again.

Part 3: I’m a Christian, but I will be the first to tell you that I have a tilted halo. A few of the major principles of Christianity are to 1) Love your neighbor as yourself (Golden Rule), 2) Forgive others who have wronged you, and 3) Love your enemies. But, no one ever said those were easy things to do. So what am I getting at? I can empathize with people who want revenge. I understand why schadenfreude is a thing. But I cannot find any sense in killing and destroying to get your way. The emotional fallout alone is too awful to fathom. So, if love and forgiveness aren’t in the cards, maybe we can consider being pranksters instead of gangsters? I imagine something out of a Roald Dahl novel. There’s a disagreement that cannot be talked out. Rock, Paper, Scissors won’t cut it. They turn to war. The planes fly over and drop… stink bombs. The tanks roll through shooting… paint balls. The infantry launch rotten eggs from sling shots. Grenades explode covering everything with slime. Some people are annoyed, some people are satisfied, but all people are alive. Some things need to be cleaned up, but nothing needs to be rebuilt. Wouldn’t this be revolutionary? No more assault rifles, no more missiles. If your ass is really that chapped, take it old school and burn a bag of shit on their front porch. Ruin their day, don’t ruin their lives. Just remember, someone loves them, and someone loves you, too.