Most mornings I drive to a neighborhood near my own that’s ideal for walking – wide streets, sidewalks and not much traffic. Today, I had to make a stop at the recycle bins at the entrance to my condo development and I saw a little boy, probably eight or so, standing by the passenger door of an SUV. He was talking to his family while he was waiting on the school bus. He was wearing a Duke t-shirt and a backpack and he smiled at me as I walked to the bins.

I had just finished reading a news story about the father of the 14-year-old shooter in Georgia being arrested on multiple charges of murder and manslaughter because he provided his son access to an AR-15 style rifle. He actually gave his son the automatic weapon for Christmas last year.

Disclaimer: This is not a political post. Anyone who has spent five minutes with me knows that I am a proud bleeding-heart liberal, but I can’t for the life of me understand how gun control is not a bipartisan issue. I don’t want to rehash all the tired arguments here. No, this is an appreciation post for parents and children and teachers – all things that I am not. I don’t know how parents wake up in America and send their kids to school. I wonder if I could be that brave.

I talked to my friend Jen about the Georgia shooting. She has an adorable son who just started 4th grade. She told me that she’s terrified and devastated every time a shooting happens and that she always thinks about her son and also her sister who is a teacher. She said, “My sister posted on Facebook this week that with every shooting, she wonders if her school could be next and I feel that same fear.” I’m sure my mother worried about a lot of things, too, but me being shot at school was never one of them.

The shooting earlier this week was not that much different than the 44 previous ones this year, but it landed on me differently. I think I had been in such a hopeful state of mind since Kamala Harris became the Democratic candidate for president. Words like freedom and forward can have that effect on you. So, when I saw the familiar Breaking News alert on my NYT app, my joy bubble burst. I stared crying – and I couldn’t stop for a long while. Wasn’t it just a few days ago that I looked at all the sweet First Day of School pictures on Facebook? I love those photos every fall – they convey possibility to me – those earnest expressions of looking forward to what the new school year might bring.

I turned on MSNBC and found a grim Nicolle Wallace talking about how her son ( now 12) went through his first active shooter drill when he was in pre-K at age three. Apparently, the grownups don’t tell children that age all the details – they simply teach them to be very quiet and listen to the people in charge. It’s not until they reach the ripe old age of six or so that the term active shooter is used.

Her story blew my mind. I guess I had never really thought too much about it since I don’t have children. When I was a kid, we had fire drills and they were always fun – not the least bit scary because everyone knew there wasn’t a real fire and you got to go outside and talk to your friends in line. I’m guessing that active shooter drills are not nearly as entertaining.

Since the shooting on Wednesday, I’ve been thinking so much about those Back-to-School photos on my Facebook timeline – children of friends, grandchildren of friends. I know my friends who posted these photos all love these children dearly and this is why for the life of me I cannot understand how we cannot pass sensible gun laws in this country. Yes, yes, the NRA is evil – no news there, but how can we not agree to agree on the simple premise that we should protect children?

To be honest, I don’t have many Republican friends, but I wish they would try and explain to me why they don’t vote for candidates who will work to make schools safer for their children and their children’s children. Do they think it can never happen at their schools?

I know I’m howling at the moon, but sometimes that’s all an old weary liberal can do.

After I dumped my recycling into the bin, I turned and smiled at the little boy waiting for the bus and he grinned back at me. Then I heard my own voice say, “Have a great day at school.” And as I turned around, I heard him and a sweet refrain of little voices from inside the SUV say, “Thank you.” It sounded like the “Hallelujah” chorus to me.

I wanted to tell them that I was sorry that we had failed them, but I could only crawl back into my car and weep. That little boy didn’t miss the bus, but we surely have.

Postscript: By the time I had finished writing this post yesterday afternoon, another school shooting had occurred in Joppa, Maryland.