So earlier today, I found out that a plane crashed and 50 people died less than 15 minutes away from my house. I’m the kind of guy who tries to avoid bad news, because tragedies and all the crap you see on TV really affects me mentally and emotionally. And this was as close to home as it gets, you know? So as soon as I got the email from Dad and read the article on the internet, I immediately entered my “rationalize the bad news and come up with explanations and excuses to make yourself feel better.” Ok, I said. That’s easy. Maybe the plane was filled with bad people who deserve to die. But no, I said, that’s not my call to make. Try again. Let’s see…maybe everyone on the plane was a Christian, and they all went to heaven! There we go, that’s much better. Stick with that thought. So I had my protection. I fortified it by reading a Facebook note by my friend Brittany who made me feel even better by saying that the plane had enough fuel in it that it should’ve taken out the whole neighborhood, but only one house was lost. And, only one person in that house actually died. The other two survived somehow. And, a woman was going to take that flight, but didn’t, and so she’s fine. Great. So I had my defenses up and running. It was sad, but it could’ve been worse. Besides, no one I knew was on that plane. And just because it happened in my hometown, that doesn’t mean that it’s any sadder than if it happened in California or Spain or something like that. Well, that's not true at all, actually. But pretend it is.

Then I read another story on the internet. About a 13 year-old child in Britain who is now a father. I read the whole article, and saw the picture of this kid (who looked like he was 5), holding a newborn baby and smiling. Now, anyone who knows me knows how much I value children and childhoods and the innocence therein. I don’t know much about life, but I do know that 13 year old kids should not be having sex, and they should not be parents. I know that when you're 13 years old, you’re still a kid. You’re in middle school. You play video games. You watch Looney Tunes and other Saturday morning cartoons on TV. If you’re really responsible, you babysit or have a paper route. But you don’t have a baby. When I read about this kid, I was incensed. I was livid. I wanted to kill him. And my anger flowed through me like a river, breaking the dam that held my pain regarding the plane crash in check. And then my anger at the kid and my agony for my home and the families of the victims combined into one big emotional mess. I wrote a furious Facebook note where I yelled at the kid for throwing his childhood away and I yelled at…someone, maybe the pilot, maybe God, maybe Satan, for letting a plane pop the bubble of safety I call “home”, and go ahead and take 50 innocent lives while you’re at it.

I watched a Looney Tune, like I do so many times when I’m upset. But this one didn’t help at all. So I went for a walk with my iPod. I stormed down streets I had never been before, not caring where I was going. It didn’t take long for me to reset my excuses for the plane crash. It was an accident. A terrible, tragic accident. But then I focused on the kid. That was no accident. He had sex as a 13 year old boy, and is naive enough to expect that he can take care of this baby and give her a good life. I was furious at him. I hated him more than I ever hated anyone else in my life for what he had done to me. He had destroyed the innocence of children in my eyes.

I came back to the room and wrote another note, essentially to this kid. I poured my anger and wrath into it. I swore profusely and threatened to “beat him until he bled” if I ever saw him in London. It felt good. But then it didn’t feel good. I took a shower and talked to God. God helped. He comforted me. When I got out of the shower, I deleted the notes.

I tried to start my paper, but I was so far gone mentally that I just couldn’t do it. So I watched an episode of Thomas the Tank Engine in an attempt to reclaim the light of childhood. It helped a little. I then watched another Looney Tune, one that I had seen so many times with my sister and grandma as a kid. That helped as well. But I still couldn’t write my paper. I tried 4 times today. And I have a weak thesis and a few sentences. But I don’t care about the grade, you know? I’m alive and a virgin and both are very important to me. My childhood was still amazing. I had, and have a good life. So who cares about the grade. I’ll still do the paper. I’ll do the best I can, whether it turns out to be 5 pages of gold or 3 and a half pages of dog poop. There’s a big difference between trying but failing and not trying at all. If I turn in an essay with a page and a half of words and 3 pages of haikus, I’ll turn it in. But I am going to turn something in tomorrow. And I hope it’s good. But if it’s not, I’ll still have my life and my friends and my faith. So there.

There’s another reason this plane crash has messed me up. The plane, flight 3407, was from Newark, New Jersey to Buffalo, New York. On April 30th, I’ll be flying on an airplane from Newark to Buffalo to come home. And Buffalo isn’t a big airport. There are only so many planes that go from Newark to Buffalo. Here’s what I’m trying to say. It could’ve been me on that plane. 2 and a half months later, and it would’ve been. And you think 2 and a half months is a long time, but it doesn’t feel like it. I know that God saved me. And this isn’t the first time a weird thing with a plane has happened. In August 2000, I was on the roof of the World Trade Centre with my mom, my best friend, and his mom. A year and a month later, it got hit by a plane. I keep on dodging aerial bullets, but someone is doing the shooting, and people are getting shot. I don’t get it. I don’t believe in coincidences, and I know that it’s still 2 and a half months difference, but I know that I would’ve been on that plane in April if it was still up. So God is protecting me, keeping me around for some reason. I wish I knew why.

So far, I’ve talked for 1,180 words and I don’t know if I’ve really said anything yet. I wish I could say something to my community, my family and friends in Williamsville and Amherst, and especially Clarence, but what can I say? What can anyone possibly say? A plane crashed into a house and 50 people died in our home. That’s it. It’s terrible, and there is nothing that I, you, or anyone else can say that will make it not terrible. But try to find some good in it, ok? That plane was practically a flying bomb. It had enough fuel to blow up the entire neighborhood, but it didn’t. God didn’t let it. He is there. My favorite Bible verse is Romans 8:18, which reads “For I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” Right now, I’m suffering. You guys are too. So are the families. This doesn’t happen without people suffering. But it also doesn’t happen without glory, even if we don’t get the glory until we get to heaven. Right now, a few/some/most/all of the victims are in heaven. They suffered in life, but right now they have glory, and the glory they have now is more intense than any of what they suffered in life. I hope that helps. I’m not good at this. Just look for God. Pray. Be there for each other. Everyone will get through this, myself included. It’ll take a while, and it’ll take longer for some than it will for others, but our lives and our home will heal. And take this time to appreciate your life. Stop worrying about grades and stupid stuff like that. I mean, try your best, yeah. But don’t let grades be the most important thing in your life. Same thing with your job, you know? And arguments and stuff like that. Just think about what’s important to you and go for it.

Alright, that’s all I’ve got. I’m proud of myself. I made it through this whole thing without crying or swearing. Now it’s 10:46 PM and I am going to go have fun times with my friends whom I love. You should go do the same. And pray for the families of the victims of 3407, and everyone else in Western New York who was affected. I love you guys a lot.