“Just know that you are loved. And show your love. Every day, okay? That’s what matters,” I said as I hugged my 10-year-old son goodbye at his robotics camp not too far from Aurora.
We had just talked about the cowardly gunman in gas mask and body armor mowing down mostly young people at The Dark Knight Rises midnight premiere, killing 12 and wounding 58, some badly. We talked about America’s glorification of violence and sacrosanct gun culture, making mention of gun control taboo no matter the carnage from a formerly banned assault rifle firing a 100-round drum magazine.
I’d rather talk about sex.
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