A sense of perspective

I have just watched Panorama about Syria.

I cried as I watched a little two year old boy heave a last few breaths, his stomach heaving and rising as his heart and lungs desperately tried to keep him alive. He was riddled with shrapnel, and a gaping wound on his upper chest was found by a frantic doctor, and which told him there was no chance, no way to help his writhing body keep him alive. The little lad, still a baby at two, died a horrid, half naked, grubby, painful death, and he screamed for help and his mother watched...........unbearable for me to watch, let alone his distraught helpless family.

Then, a woman recalls how the men and boys of Homs were chased down by government forces and caught and she watched as a 12 year old boy had a soldiers boot stamped on his neck, while another of his captors cut his throat..................for fucks sake, he was a child. The thought was so horrific, especially knowing my boy was feet away blissfully ignorant whilst doing his homework in the next room, that I wept again.

Words fail me....................the west fails those children, the UN fails them miserably. Shame on the Russians, who in Stings words are meant to "love their children too", and shame on the Chinese. Both nations of course vetoing any UN action in Syria. I know it's not all Russians/Chinese, but they come across as such cruel regimes and people at times like these.

I feel somewhat ashamed that I have the life I do, compared to such horrors. It is so easy to get a sense of perspective watching the terror of little children.

Terror? Ahhh the "war on terror"? Such an absurd concept, as war creates..............well .....terror.

So we are at war against the consequences of what "we" are involved in.......?

As a clever man once said,  ‎"The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing." - Albert Einstein

Elsewhere in my world..............

I should blog more often, as it helps. So here I am. I should try harder to get fitter. Work in progress, but laziness and motivation are a problem, not that I am blessed with an inordinate amount of free time what with the job, and being a single parent.

Not that I am complaining about either, as the job is great in content, and I enjoy it and am blessed with great colleagues, one in particular who is and has been an angel on my shoulder from day one. I can't complain about father/parenthood either. My ever wonderful, clever, witty, funny, and immensely kind and gentle son continues to enrich and expand my life on a daily basis in many ways. I can honestly say I learn something new each day. It is a joy, a privilege, an honour, and a labour of reciprocal and unconditional love to be present in his life, and to share mine with him. To watch him grow is truly wonderful.

So, still trying to lose the extra weight gained since giving up smoking. It bothers me a little, I don't want to be a porker, and it hinders my slim chances of romance I am sure. Not that I am bothered by a queue at the door of members of the fairer sex you understand. I am painfully aware, albeit resigned, that a balding single dad, approaching 50, is not the most attractive proposition, let alone one that is getting a little rotund.

Add to that I don't live in the "right" part of town, or drive the "right" sort of car, and the house needs decorating, and the garden needs sorting as spring is upon us. So much work...........It will keep me out of mischief this spring/summer.

I visited my mum in hospital a few days ago, because she had a fall and broke her ankle and leg and fractured her pelvis. In addition to that she has been told her breast cancer is back and she will have to undergo a mastectomy. It may have spread further. Waiting upon the outcome of an MRI scan before anymore is known. If it has spread then they will not carry out the breast op. That doesn't sound good. More later. It's too upsetting to write about or think about right now.

Anyway, after visiting, Callum asked to see where I was brought up and lived when I was his age, so we made a short detour to Paulsgrove.

It was a really great half hour. Callum got to see places that he only knew in anecdotes, such as a pub wall I used to climb, destroying my new school shoes in the process. I was bought new shoes, my dad recounted to Callum, and warned not to re-climb said wall. Only to be caught red handed, or footed,  climbing the wall two days later, as mum and dad passed in the car on the way home from shopping intending to pick me up on the way.

Sadly, as we approached my old junior and infant school, I noticed it had been pulled down, and all that remained were the building footprints and a piece of rubble here and there. I felt quite sad. All those memories, all those little battles, the struggles, the learning, (both academic and life). First day, first "girlfriend", first kiss, first fight, first school punishment, and so on, all came flooding back in a light speed style slide show of highlights and lowlights.

I showed Callum the journey from my old house to the local shop, which, when I was 8 or 9 seemed an epic trek of Hollywood proportions, but in reality is a five minute walk, crossing one road.

I almost caught sight of myself running along a part-built M27 at that time, and that is close by. I was running away from home, in my slippers, (an obviously well thought out and well prepared for event), in the direction of my Nans, some 6 miles away, who was of course going to "save me" from my telling off for breaking a second lava lamp in ten days..........ahhh the "terror"..............which brings me back to the start of this blog.

My perceived terror then, to the reality in Homs for another little boy having real fear for his life, and having that fear become an horrific reality.

Real and proper terror I will hopefully never, ever experience in my cosy, cosseted life. Obviously no comparison, and I obviously had no sense of the perspective I would compare some 40 years later.

I leave this blog with two thoughts that popped into my head this week. The first in relation to Facebook. The second Twitter.

What Warhol predicted, has Zuckerberg delivered?

We used to aspire to share bodily fluids, now it's 280 characters?

TTFN