The local paper's human interest writer Tommy Tomlinson put together an interesting piece about Delvonte Tisdale.
"Arrange the facts a certain way, piece the jagged edges together, and you start to see a picture. But the picture doesn't speak. Nothing in it says why.
A lot of people want to know the how. How, exactly, did Delvonte Tisdale get onto airport grounds and hide inside a commercial airliner? And if a 16-year-old could do it, why not a terrorist?
These are important questions, and authorities owe us the answers. But this is more personal. The idea this morning is to talk about why."
Tommy's story is here.
I'm sure a lot of people have that same question, why? And while Tommy's story does a good job it doesn't provide any real answers.
The truth is, a 16 year old boy's mind is a pile of mush, capable of things adults and more so parents can't understand. As teenagers, every once and awhile we don't survive our actions. It happens.
But most of us grow up into functional adults, and then again some of us don't, instead we live a life with baggage that we drag around for our entire lives.
Something someone said to us, or did and we can't get past and years later it emerges in a fit of anger or a failed marriage, a criminal act or self destructive behavior.
I suspect, Charlie Sheen, Lindsey Lohan, Casey Anothy and BTK killer and so many others have this in common. How many criminals explain their crimes by saying they suffered an abusive childhood?
As teenagers we deal with a lot, some of our secrets we keep forever, deep hurting secrets, that we tell no one. I suspect you have a few as well.
Some we share, I laugh when I think of my middle school gym teacher, he was a pervert who liked to stare at young boys in the showers. He had all the bench marks of a child molester and I'm sure some of my class mates fared worse than I did.
Was it a big deal at the time? I guess so. But I would also guess it has never bothered me enough to say anything. But I'll tell you this I dreaded gym class and refused to use the showers even in High School. And my mother never figured out how I could fail PE.
There were bullies, Howie was a kid who would threaten me unless I stole cigarettes from my mother and handed them over to him as payment for my protection from being beat up by of course him. He once threw a friend's bicycle into a rock quarry. Hell it might have been mine. I really don't remember, but I'm sure he ended up in prison.
A kid once spit in my Fritos and told me so after I ate the entire bag. I was sick for a week and I'm sure the kid later died from someone poisoning his food.
Karma works like that.
I more than once thought about running away, and so did my friends so one day we jumped on a freight train and rode it for nearly 40 miles before it slowed enough to jump off. The three of us were old enough to know better but too young to think it through.
40 miles down the line and a long way from home, now what? Only one thing to do, jump a train going in the opposite direction. An hour later we were back in familiar territory still far from home we opted to get off the train while it was going slow enough to do so, and it case it didn't slow down again. We walked home the last couple of miles, made it on time for dinner and no one ever said a word.
Throughout my childhood I dealt with life, somehow my parents gave me enough problem solving skills, and enough brain cells to keep from getting killed.
I guess I could lay blame on a lot of my childhood. I could have been a stand out athlete, never liked the idea of leaving home without a return ticket, and I still don't like fritos.
But I don't blame my parents, the coach, the school bully or the railroad. Somewhere after the age of 3 we start thinking for ourselves. We make choices and God willing we live to tell about them.
I think we have been trying to over analyze Delvonte Tisdale's death. Shit happens, he is no different than any other kid, just trying to deal with the world.
All we can do is spread the word, buy a ticket.