With the Orlando Massacre happening this week I couldn’t help but think of the Boston Marathon bombings and the city that I have grown up loving more than a child loves candy. What also came to mind though wasn’t to analyze the political, breakdown the shooters motives, or post anything on facebook/other social media, my friends have already done that much more eloquently than I ever could. Immediately what popped into my head was the concept of “home.”
I’ve grown up just outside of Boston for my entire life. My father has been a Brookline Fireman the past 33 years and visiting him as kids was always a treat. His old station, Station 1 in Brookline Village, is a mile from Fenway Park and was a jungle gym for a small child. As I got older my grandfather and grandmother would take my brother and I on adventures through the Boston Common, along the Charles, to the Peabody Museum at Harvard where Grandpa got a discount as an alum, down to Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market to learn about the founding and the history of Boston, and finally down to the waterfront and the Seaport to see the ships coming in. As I grew into my teens and, now in my early twenties, I took the adventures I’ve had as a kid and do them all over again with friends that come and visit from out of state or friends who never explored Boston when they were younger. Also throughout this journey I learned the history of the Boston Bruins, Red Sox, and Celtics as well as vehemently defended Tom Brady and the Patriots. My bond with the city and its history became a love affair. Then Patriots day came in 2013 and I have a memory permanently seared in my mind.
After sitting in Hobart and William Smith’s dining hall for going on the 4th hour my friends started to get concerned. I hadn’t moved from the same table, touched my food, or blinked according to them. All I did was stare at the news for the updates on the Marathon bombings or looked at my phone for reassuring texts from family and friends. I just remember thinking “How could they attack home? Who would attack my city? Why do this?” I watched the news for another three hours that day in the same spot before two of my friends finally convinced me to go to the vigil that the school was holding that night.
What I have been thinking about since Orlando is that concept right there, the concept of “home”. Thousands of people sat there hoping to get a call from a friend or family member saying that they got out okay. Thousands more stared at the images wondering who was capable of creating such despair and hopelessness. These people must be asking themselves why would someone do this to my city, my LGBTQ community, my people, my home. What we have already seen and will continue to see in the days, months, and years that follow won’t be that Orlando will continue to fear another attack like this. We will see the good that people have in their hearts, we have seen it in the hundreds that lined up all over the city to give blood. We will see how a city can heal, how a person realizes what the word “home” means.
