When my son appeared home from work last Tuesday evening just as the 10 p.m. news was beginning, I was pleasantly surprised to see him. Earlier in the day he told me he'd be home around 11 since he was scheduled to be one of the `closers' at Chuck E. Cheese that evening. I hated it when he was scheduled to close on school nights, and I told him so that afternoon. But since his fellow employees and manager had been so kind to him during a recent illness, and since he hadn't been able to earn much Christmas money, I didn't say much more. So when he came in and said, ``Hey, someone else wanted to close tonight, so I didn't have to stay,'' I knew I could lock up and go to bed a little earlier than I'd planned. Then the news bulletin came on: ``There has been a shooting at Chuck E. Cheese pizza parlor in Aurora.'' I yelled and my son came out of the bathroom with his toothbrush still in his mouth. He sat on the edge of the rocking chair watching and waiting for more information. Then he said, pointing his finger at me and shaking, ``I bet I know who it was...'' I questioned him about what he had seen and dialed the police department. The police spoke with him and said they'd send out a detective. Then my son told me about the people who were still at the restaurant when he left. Bobby -- the nicest guy in the world, he said. Sylvia -- a lot of fun. Ben, oh yeah, he was in the game room. Colleen -- she was working the show room. And Marge -- did you know she liked weird pizza -- like spinach and stuff? He spoke about each one as we waited for more information. In the meantime, we heard helicopters and sirens waited for more word. The early reports were sketchy ... Several people had been shot ... Some were still in the restaurant, some were being wheeled out on stretchers .... More on the morning news, they said. We looked at each other in disbelief. I knew that my son had missed being one of the victims by minutes, maybe just a couple of minutes. No one in our family slept well that night. At about 4:30 a.m., I got up. I had been having nightmares anyway, and I wanted to make sure that whatever the news was, I knew it before my son did. I'll help him through it, I thought. He was sleeping on the floor in his brother's room. He didn't want to be alone. As I looked at the front page of the newspaper, I felt some relief that at least some of the people had survived. But then I turned on the early news and learned that all the victims had been shot in the head and that two were dead: Marge and Colleen. I held my sides and wept. My son heard me and came out to watch the news. He urged on those still living: ``Come on, Sylv, come on ...'' I prayed hardest for Bobby. He had offered to close for my son. I didn't know if I could handle it, or how my son would feel, if he didn't make it. But as that day wore on -- that horrible day -- two more would die. There but for the grace of God, I thought. I kept picturing my son's face as he talked to the TV reporters. My child is in shock, I thought. And here I am at work, trying to act as though my world has not been blown apart as well. After a few short hours, I decided I should go home -- I wanted to be there when he came home. I wanted to hold him and tell him I love him. After my son arrived home, the phone rang and rang. People from all over the country were calling to make sure that he was OK. He told his story over and over again. He needs help, I can see, but I don't know how to give it to him. It's so hard to imagine the pain felt by the families of Colleen, Sylvia, Ben, and Marge. I've thought often about how horrible that night was for them and about how hard it will be in the future. It's hard for me to even imagine the depth of my own son's pain. No one taught me how to help my child through a mass murder. I can't explain to him why the police say they are going to call and then don't. I don't know why the alleged murderer was allowed to threaten people for months without anyone challenging him. I'm not sure that it would happen again tonight. Most of all, I'm scared to admit that most people won't attach any responsibility for the situation to anyone but the killer. No parent, no school official, no juvenile or adult law enforcement agency, no former employer recognized and took responsibility for the potential danger of this situation. Maybe that is today's truth. We have become very adept at avoiding responsibility for much of anything. I'm angry at s many people -- and I'm angry with myself. Our young people need our help. They are living through these horrors because we are allowing them too, mostly because we are just too busy to care. They did not, in their short lives, create this violent, irresponsible society. We pretend not to see that we sell them the means of their destruction. I realize that my nerves are raw right now. I just hope that as the days and months go by that we do something meaningful to show our kids that we really mean to help them end the violence that threatens their generation. I am sorry, too, son. I haven't done enough so far. But that doesn't mean that I can't do more now. Please help me. We all need to speak up when we see something going very wrong. If we are going to effect an real change, I'll need your energy and commitment to push me. And I will take responsibility for my part. It isn't too late, son. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- To find out more about the anon service, send mail to help@anon.penet.fi. Due to the double-blind, any mail replies to this message will be anonymized, and an anonymous id will be allocated automatically. You have been warned. Please report any problems, inappropriate use etc. to admin@anon.penet.fi.