Greenwell

My father was a junior college basketball coach. In 1996, his men’s team took fifth in the national NJCAA tournament. College Basketball was more common at our dinner table than corn (and we were Midwesterners). To us, March Madness is aptly named.

The University of Kansas was always my team, because they were underdogs. They weren’t the big Dukes or North Carolinas, but they always seemed to come from behind. I cite the 2008 finals to nonbelievers, when the Jayhawks beat a nine-point spread against Derrick Rose and the Memphis Blue Devils with two minutes remaining, forcing the game into overtime and eventually taking home the National Championship.

But even when KU was advancing to the Final Four, I couldn’t take my eyes off the #NeverAgain marches across America. Some might have called this march madness of a different sort, but to me it wasn’t madness at all.

It was inspiring to see these how these kids have coordinated and organized, how they stand up and continue to speak out against gun violence in their schools.

In contrast, I’ve been disappointed to see how the NRA and like organizations have responded. I’ve heard NRA representatives calling them “paid child actors,” denigrating their message and, most dishearteningly, their tragedy.

NRATVs Colion Noir said no one would know their names if their classmates were still alive, suggesting that they chose to be put in the position to see their classmates murdered violently in front them during a normal school day.

Don’t get me wrong. I want to support the NRA. I’m not in the habit of tearing people or groups down. As a wise friend once said to me, “I’m all about success.” And I’m a hunter. I have benefited from the right to own guns, but because of the stance the NRA has chosen to take, I can’t support them.

I’ll never forget the morning of the Columbine shooting. I was 12. Over breakfast, my family watched the horror unfold on a 10-inch black-and-white TV, the kind with an analog dial that only goes up to 23 channels.

(I remember that because 23 was Michael Jordan’s number.)

Kids ran terrified from the school, covering their heads. My mom started crying. It was a strange experience to see images that felt so distant affecting her that deeply.

That morning, I think I got my first real glimpse into what it means to be a patriot, to feel a ripple in the one fabric that makes us a nation.

At this moment in time, I think we have a real opportunity. We have a choice to hear what these kids are saying, to notice how they are channeling their fear and frustration and anger into peaceful marches and a message of solidarity.

I don’t think it was any coincidence that Martin Luther King Jr’s granddaughter, Yolanda Renee King, also spoke at the march in Washington. It’s easy to come together in times of joy and celebration, like at a basketball game, but it truly reveals our character when we choose to come together in times of despair and violence.

We have an opportunity to come together with these kids, these young Americans, who no longer feel safe in their schools. We have the opportunity to ask them: “How can we help?”

Eric Greenwell lives in Wallowa County and is a conservation manager, poet and author.