Paris: November 14, 2015


There is a pallor over the world today. The city of Paris, as most of you know, suffered unprecedented terror attacks last night.

My mind is still in shock, trying to comprehend the up-close carnage. People killed at a concert, just because they were there. I guess those guys at the so-called “Islamic State” must be proud of themselves. Enjoy your dubious success, wherever you suicide terrorists are.

All I can do at this point is recall where I was when this was happening. My mother and I were out to eat at a local Mexican restaurant. The match between France and Germany was on their TVs – the station was reporting it in Spanish, so it was no big deal. Immediately, there was an explosion outside the stadium, and the reports switched to a terror attack around in Paris. (I can read a lot of Spanish – at least the courses I took in high school gave me that ability.) I asked the manager to see if I got reading the words right, and he confirmed there was an attack. We left the store with Paris on our hearts, and the evening was awful. We had a fairly ordinary evening, but terror attacks cast a horrid shadow over everything. We watched 20/20’s coverage, where words were not minced or censored (and I did not care), and people were doing the only thing they could when their country is attacked: get behind it. People being evacuated at the soccer game sang France’s National Anthem, and there were report of people inviting others in their homes for safety. As my nation throws its support behind its oldest ally, I join the two, and begin to brew some resolve and comfort the Parisians and Frenchmen, and everyone in Paris that night.

Just so you know, I believe today we are all Parisians.


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Autistic woman in her 40s, bringing attention to issues that affect her and her kind.

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