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Ever since the shooting incident, I have had a sense of unease. The question of why a seemingly normal, all-American young man acted in such a rash and dangerous manner eluded me. The school has appointed a child psychologist to counsel those who wish to take advantage of the offer. Counseling is also available to parents. I am looking for an opportunity to converse with the Shooter, but don’t know if that is possible.

“Arjun, do you want to write something for the next Pulse?” David, the editor of our school paper Pulse, asks me. He and everyone in the school knew, by now, that I was the target of the Shooter during the Valentine’s Day celebration.

“Of course,” I reply.

As part of the editorial team of the Fairfax Pulse,  I usually write reviews of sports, movies, or books. It has been two weeks since the shooting. The local TV stations and the Washington Post have been running stories about the Shooter. They have identified him as a white Caucasian living in Woodbridge. Due to the laws related to juvenile crimes, his full name, address, and profile are not identified. They have only called him Bobby. I don’t know yet what has to happen to him, but I have an inner calling to write something about it. The incident was so unexpected and bizarre that it needed to be addressed. I think about it for a while and compose the following.

To Bobby:

According to published reports, your action was not gang-related, and your father has a home improvement business. Apparently, you do not have a previous criminal record. However, the seriousness of what you did may require that you be tried as an adult.

What happens to you is not in my control. You felt compelled to show your hatred and animosity towards someone who didn’t look like you. You disturbed a peaceful and happy event with your show of ignorance and dangerous behavior. You could have taken an innocent life. We are fortunate you didn’t. Would it have made you happy if you had killed someone? You saw a brown-colored boy performing on the main stage, and you thought he did not belong there. It doesn’t matter what my religion is. It matters that I am an integral part of your environment, and I want you to know that I am, first of all, an American.

Yes. I am a born American. My parents came to this country from India, twenty-five years ago to seek a better life. I was born at the Fair Oaks hospital, possibly the same as you did. I grew up watching Big Bird, Miss Piggy, Ernie and Bert, and the Cookie Monster. How about you? Maybe Mister Roger’s Neighborhood or Scooby-Doo was your favorite? Those shows helped us learn about friendship and camaraderie.

My parents enrolled me in Little League soccer, baseball, and basketball even though they didn’t know much about these sports. They wanted, and still want to preserve their culture in a foreign land. We sometimes disagree on our views of the world or what career I should pursue. But they never would instill feelings in me of hatred towards other humans.

What do your parents want you to be? May I ask? I am sure they don’t want you to get rid of those who don’t look like you by driving them out of the country. Where does that leave you? You still need to be good at what you do. You still need to study and acquire knowledge and skills. So why are you afraid of those who are not like you? I hope your parents don’t have a mentality such as yours. But maybe I am wrong. Children mostly emulate their elders. If that is the case, then we have a terrible situation.  

What did you do growing up, besides watch the shows I mentioned above? Did you excel or try to be better in sports, music, the arts, or science? Do you read books? Or did you just go to the shooting range hoping to be an expert marksman? There is nothing wrong with being a marksman if all you want is to be a good hunter.

As I said before, I am a born American and proud to be so. The Post reports that you aren’t a student at our school. I believe that because if you were a part of our student body, you would have known me. I was the one who hit the walk-off home run against Oakton last spring. It was a crucial win, and I was proud I contributed. Are you a participant in sports or just a spectator? If you did everything I did growing up here in America, then, tell me, what separates me from you, other than the color of our skin?

I can sing the American National Anthem and recite the Pledge of Allegiance. Can you? With pride?

I write this and put it aside for a few days. I am not sure how it will be taken by the general student body, our teachers, and our parents. Did I go too far? Will other parents hate me for saying what’s on my “brown” mind? I don’t think so, and I really shouldn’t care. This is, after all, a free country, isn’t it? I think it will at least generate dialogue and discussion. Perhaps our social studies teacher will take it as a discussion point.

I send it to David, and he decides to publish it. I don’t show it to Dad or Mom. They are already shaken up by the incident, and this would make them more nervous.

I can imagine my Dad saying, “Arjun, don’t unnecessarily ruffle the feathers. We are still a minority in a foreign country. It is good not to be in the limelight. You never know what those in power can do.”

“Then why did you become a citizen of this FREE country?” I might say.

After the story was published, I am stopped in the hallways by my friends to tell me how much they liked it and praise me for my courage. I am sure Dan is going to tell his parents, and Mom will hear about the article from Vickie. I decide to wait until it happens and then decide upon a course of action.

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