I was an uncle at a very young age and was around my niece and nephew a lot. I remember once when I was in fifth grade, we had to sing a class song, My Bonnie lies over the ocean, and I teared up because my niece and nephew were moving away; my brother had been drafted and they were all going to the Air Force Academy in Colorado. Loved them to death. When my own first child was born it was like that part in the Wizard of Oz when everything changes from black-and-white to color.  My whole world changed. Talk about love, it’s a wonder my son ever learned to walk I was picking him up and playing with him so much. Peekaboo games, making faces, play “fights.” When he did learn to walk we’d play “hop on pop.”  I’d lay on the floor and he’d jump up and down on my stomach as I held his hands. I’d make “ooh” and “aah” sounds as if it was killing me. His friends too. And my daughter after that. When they’d hurt themselves I’d hit the floor or whatever they fell on and say “Bad floor!” and then pretend I had hurt my hand. That turned the tears into laughter. I could always make kids laugh.  I just love playing with kids. All kids. All those goofy games I used with my own kids I’ve used on others. I remember a park at dusk in Santiago de Cuba. I saw a little girl with her parents across the way. I smiled and bent over and clapped my hands twice. The little girl looked at her parents briefly and then ran to me and straight into my arms. I swooped her up and tickled her tummy with my head. I remember an outdoor art class on a Saturday in Beijing, China. I saw two little girls—twins.  I gave them my mischievous Dad-grin and they squealed and laughed and ran off while I mock-chased them. When (if) I ever retire I want to be a playground monitor at the grade school my kids used to attend. So the massacre of twenty six and seven year-olds in Newtown, Connecticut was the worst public occurrence of my life.

These are pictures of six Newtown kids I was able to quickly find online.