Just as every story has at least two sides, so people have more than one side, and of course, we all know that, don't we?

Or do we... I have to wonder why it is that folks are uncomfortable when they can't label someone, put a sticker on that person and file them away. I am writing this today for a number of reasons, not the least of which is -- I have good friends -- wonderful friends that I have never met.

Val, Mary, Marilyn, Yvonne: you, to name just a few. You were there when even family wasn't. (Except you, Jennifer.)

But then again, family knows I'm pretty tough. You all didn't (likely).

We present the persona we want people to see. I've been a Christian all of my life. But a lot of my life I wore blinders. The latter years, however, have removed them, and when I say latter, I mean the second half of my life -- the last thirty or so years. It's when I changed direction again, and it was an eye-opening experience that had begun, though I didn't realize it had, with my first job.

I was privileged to work as a police dispatcher, back in the days before there were 911 operators. It was during that time that I dispatched ambulances and police to an accident I will never forget. A car hit a hydro pole out in the boondocks -- there were no little green markers to identify a spot in the country in those days. Two very young, scared children were conscious in the back seat, crying. Both parents were dead in the front one. It took some doing to calm the caller enough to finally pinpoint where to send help, and to make sure he knew to keep those kids inside the vehicle until help arrived.

I also studied self-defense around the same time, and was introduced to Japanese culture through it. My instructor was a fifth degree black belt, and world-renowned. I certainly never got that far, but what I learned was invaluable. I am not a helpless old lady because of it (although I sure do suffer arthritis -- probably a result). But I thank God for that instruction, because it is the ability to focus that I learned that matters most of all. It saved my life scuba-diving in the Caribbean, but also, if and when I need to, I can shut off any pain I might be feeling to get the job done.

But even more importantly, I learned to pay attention to what is around me. My heart is broken over yesterday's tragic events in my beloved city.

By the time I reached about forty years old, my street smarts were pretty well-developed. I'd done a number of different jobs, lived in various cities, traveled -- not so much as a tourist, but absorbing and appreciating cultures different from my own, off the beaten track.

That's my reason for writing this short editorial. I need my friends to know that I'm okay. There might be things I wouldn't see when I am out, just like the twenty-six victims of yesterday's madman -- it happens. But I need them to know that I feel the need to be a part of my community, my wonderful Toronto. You see, I am not only saddened, I am enraged at what has happened here. It's time to stand up and be counted, to physically show that no terrorist, no crazy zealot or self-centered murderer will keep the real Torontonian down, not the folk who once knew this city as "Toronto The Good" and liked it that way.

Yes, I'm a senior. But I'm no helpless old lady, and my Momma didn't raise a fool. "Cool" are the three men crying when they were interviewed yesterday by television crews, not the tactless, grinning fools in the background. "Cool" is compassion, kindness, tolerance, and "cool" is outrage at incomprehensible acts.
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