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Thursday, April 30, 2009

Some men are strictly a pleasure to hang.

I stood before the casket of a three year old boy on Monday.

His name was Kyle. His mother was our neighbor and his uncle a good friend. On occasion, his mother would bring Kyle over and he played in our yard with our kids. He was fascinated by our turtle sandbox and the treasures contained within, and he smiled and waved at me.

He fell a year ago. Down a flight of stairs at his babysitter's. Had problems afterwards, but made a recovery, more or less.

Kyle was rushed to the hospital last Thursday and died.

Apparently, he didn't fall in the first place.

This is why I'm never going to be fully on board with the abolition of capital punishment.

Right now, I am left only with the cold wish that justice find Kyle's killer swiftly, and that he die alone, unmourned and forgotten, his memory obliterated from the mind of man.

And yes, Lord, please grant that I may one day be able to pray for the redemption of his killer's soul.

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Be reasonably civil. Ire alloyed with reason is fine. But slagging the host gets you the banhammer.