I live in an older neighborhood. I used to know everybody and we looked out for each other. All the neighborhood kids played together, we collected mail and newspapers when a neighbor was away. That sort of community. We didn’t have a “Neighborhood Watch’, though. We didn’t really feel like we needed one back then. We genuinely cared for our neighbors.
Some 40 odd years later we still look out for each other. But now, in the era of “Me Too” and BLM and wearing masks to protect one another, it seems to take on a new … Read more...
“Mr. Wilson. Come here. I need you.” And, thus, Alexander Graham Bell introduced the marvels of the telephone to the world. Not with words of joy and celebration, but with a call of urgent distress and concern.
If my Jr. High history serves me well, Mr. Bell had spilled some acid in his lab and was not even aware that Mr. Wilson heard his call for help through his new invention. To me, in my present life, that urgent call of distress was somewhat ominous – foreboding, if you will.
It’s said that in combat you never hear the rifle shot that kills you. When learning of the loss of a loved one, however, the opposite is true – the phone rings, you answer it and then nothing – you just go numb.
We received the call that our daughter, Allison Goldstein, had taken her own life before we read the email she sent– the suicide note with “Things I Couldn’t Say” in the subject line.