No Easy Answers (31 page)

Lots of things trigger painful memories—not just when I drive past the school or hear Columbine mentioned in a news report. There are little things, too. Maybe I'll buy a new multi-player computer game, and as I start to play, suddenly I'll wonder what Dylan would have thought of it. And then I'll get angry with him and Eric again, for having done something so stupid and cruel. We had so many good times, and those memories are forever tainted now. I hate them for having betrayed me like this. For having betrayed all of us.

But things are getting better. I've realized something important over the past three years: In spite of the hell that I lived through, I am still alive. I'm one of the lucky ones.

As we stand there at the anniversary ceremony, the time reaches 11:19. Principal DeAngelis is reading the names of the thirteen who died. As he reads each one, a balloon is released into the air. Kyle Velasquez's parents are standing a few feet to the left of me. When I hear his name, I see the balloon leave their hands and float away, joining the others already disappearing into the distance.

Walking away from the ceremony, I glance over at the sidewalk, about a hundred yards away, where I stood three years ago. Where I saw Eric pull in. For the past two years, I marked this anniversary by standing in that spot.

I don't feel compelled to do that this time.

One reason is because of what happened last year. That day, I was standing there, just as I had the year before, smoking a cigarette and remembering. Then the police pulled up and demanded my name. The public had been banned from entering Columbine on the anniversary, and apparently the sidewalk out front was considered part of school property. I tried to explain that I was a former student, and was mourning my friends, but they didn't care. They ordered me to leave.

Back then, I was so shocked by their actions that I complied. But I'd had a year since then to fume over the memory. I knew that if I went over there today and they tried to make me leave again, my response would probably get me into a lot of trouble. Since harassment from the police wasn't how I wanted to spend this day, I decided against going to “my spot.”

Besides, in some ways it was a healthy decision. Standing there with a cigarette, remembering Eric's car pull in, helped me for the first couple of years after the tragedy. But that moment doesn't define me. Who I am from this day forward is what defines me.

I don't know where my Web site will go. It is simply my personal attempt to make a difference. Yet that's my point. If each of us quits complaining about the world—and instead takes action in his or her unique way—who knows what could be accomplished? I don't want to mark the deaths at Columbine with a “moment of silence” anymore. I want to mark it with moments of action. For me, those moments include helping with Michael Moore's project, or working on my Web site, or telling my story.
I want people to learn from what happened here, and I want them to keep asking questions.

When it comes to Columbine, some solutions are more obvious than others. We have to crack down on all forms of bullying. Obviously, this means the kids on the playground who beat up the outcasts, or the high schoolers who mock and harass the kids wearing black and keeping to themselves. But we also have to look at teachers. Teachers who only like the “good kids” and turn their backs on the rest are causing untold pain and anger in those forgotten students. If students are given up on early, then they learn to hate the system and can no longer be rescued by it.

We have to reevaluate what we as a society are doing to our children. They, and not our careers or our personal lives, must be our priority. When people choose to become parents, they must make those children their primary focus—not just say it, but live it. Our kids need that kind of guidance in today's world.

Humanity has not changed in several millennia, even if our technology has. Because of technology, we can survive twice as long as we could a few hundred years ago—yet most of us accomplish only half as much. We can find out any fact we want through the Internet—and many of us want porn and hate.

As the writer Jhonen Vasquez said, whether in a loincloth or business suit, we're the same.

Why do people wonder where Eric and Dylan came from?

I guess they ask because they never look at themselves.

We as a society allowed Eric and Dylan's creation. If we sit back and wait for society to fix itself, it will never happen. We will only see more of the same.

But if we as individuals choose to do something, then it's the first step toward change.

I saw my best friend from grade school become a mass murderer. I saw my report to the police get swept right under the rug. I was asked by my own school never to come back. I was called a killer on the street. I saw the families of murdered children lied to for three years, then saw our lawmakers tell them there was no reason to investigate it.

I saw all of this, and I haven't given up.

Neither should the rest of the world. If there's one lesson to be learned from Columbine, it's that we can't let things remain the way they are. We can't succumb to feeling powerless against the world.

Learn from the injustice of Columbine. Look for where parallels are happening elsewhere. I guarantee, you won't have to look far. Then fight to change it. Don't wait for everyone else. Don't let the world happen around you. Don't stay powerless.

Don't give up hope.