By Kenneth L. Hardin

I saw a quote on social media recently that I agreed with so passionately it caused me to have a strong visceral response. I threw both arms skyward and pumped my fists hard up towards the heavens as I loudly exclaimed, “yes!” I acted as if I had won a sporting event or bested a bully in a Disney movie. The quote impacted my normally calm demeanor and controlled sensibilities, reading, “I’ve thought about running away more as an adult than I ever did as a child.”

On the surface, it may sound a bit immature and illogical, but the more I have to be a responsible adult in a world full of those who lack this necessary characteristic makes me want to take the bear route and go on an extended hibernation away from society. When I look around at our political discourse, our educational and judicial systems, racial division, crime, drugs and social media idiots, it lends credence and offers veracity to what Mark Twain said, “Sometimes I wonder whether the world is being run by smart people who are putting us on or by imbeciles who really mean it.”

I’ve opined numerous times on how weary I am with all the shootings that are so prevalent in this little slice of marginal  heaven where I pay my taxes and throughout this nation. Every time there’s breaking news reporting the horror of more innocent lives taken by gun violence, professional culture-hustling politicians pop up on my TV perched in front of a microphone with bowed heads and downcast eyes trying to convince the sheep how devastated they are at the newest massacre. In the same breath, they offer the hollow gesture of “thoughts and prayers” to the emotionally broken families as if this fictional form of financial and emotional currency will reimburse the families and help them to accept their loss, heal and rebuild their shattered lives. They turn to page one of their do-nothing playbook and excoriate the other side of the isle for not caring enough to implement legislation so that this tragedy doesn’t continue to follow its deadly continual pattern. None of the talking heads representing the opposing wings of the same political dirty bird have shown the courage to actually propose legislation to end this vicious cycle of violence.

It’s different when you watch these deadly events unfold on TV in a place far from the comfortable confines of your living room. But the shooting that occurred in Kansas City at the end of the Super Bowl victory parade hit me on a personal level because  I lived and worked there for two years and was intimately familiar with the killing ground. The hospital where I punched a time clock as a corporate director was three miles away from the shooting at the Union Station. I spent many afternoons eating lunch and shopping there.

I still keep in touch with a good friend, who was a colleague at the hospital where we worked together and is still in leadership there. The night before the parade, we talked for over two hours on the phone and discussed the upcoming festivities happening the next day. During the call, she shared  how much gun violence there is in her city, and I offered her the same view from where I lay my head nightly. I told her for that reason, I don’t attend parades, festivals or anywhere there are large crowds of people. I added that I had lost faith and confidence in society and have no trust in my fellow man. I painted a bleak picture of limiting my social interactions and the hesitancy and discomfort I feel when I’m out doing basic things like grocery shopping or picking up food from the restaurants whose tables I no longer put my feet under.

I enjoyed watching the parade and all the festivities with my brothers and sisters at the Veterans Social Center. By the time I drove home, nestled down in my easy chair, and turned on the TV, the scene was no longer festive. After listening to the news report, I immediately texted my friend to check on her and her young daughter who were part of the overflow crowd. I held  my breath until my phone dinged and buzzed with the response, “We’re all safe. Back at the hospital supporting the families. 1 fatality.”

When I announced I was leaving the hospital and moving back to this sleepy city, my friend organized a huge farewell party. One of the gifts was a print picture of the road leading into downtown Kansas City and a Chiefs ball cap. The picture and hat have been hanging silently on my wall for several years. Now, every time I look at them, I just want to pack a bag and run away.

Kenneth L. (Kenny) Hardin  is a member of the National Association of Black Journalists.