Jonathan Wier: How The Shooting In Kansas City Impacted Me As A Chiefs Fan And Father
I broke a promise to my seven-year-old son, and I thank God I did.
A million people from my former home, Kansas City. They were just trying to celebrate their team. They gathered together with one goal. To praise the team that they have been cheering on through a (relatively) rough regular season and miraculous post-season. They brought their voices, they brought their jerseys and coolers, they brought their kids.
I almost did too. Seeing parents with kids the same age as my 7-year-old on their shoulders cheering for Patrick Mahomes and Travis Kelce filled me with so much regret. I was thinking Finn – my seven-year-old – should be there. Finn, who wore a Mahomes t-shirt to school after The Chiefs won the Super Bowl and got heckled by a classmate because “Mahomes isn’t as good as Tom Brady”. Finn, who insisted on wearing ANOTHER Chiefs shirt the next day. Finn, who still holds my hand to cross the street. Finn, who I promised last year “if the Chiefs win the Super Bowl next year, we’re going to the parade.”
“WE’RE GOING TO KANSAS CITY RIGHT DAD!?”
When the Chiefs won the Super Bowl on Sunday night, Finn said, “WE’RE GOING TO KANSAS CITY RIGHT DAD!?” I looked alarmed. I had no idea that he would remember that. I told him “No sorry buddy, when I told you that I didn’t know I would be working the next day. So we can’t go.” He was disappointed, but because he’s his mother’s son, he took it in stride.
I now thank God that I broke my promise.
Nine children.
Nine were shot at the parade in a senseless act of violence. They went to Children’s Mercy in Kansas City with bullet wounds that medical staff were able to treat successfully and remarkably all the children will make a full recovery, physically. Mentally, the shock and horror of the day will never leave them. Nor will it leave the other thousands of kids who were having a great time interrupted by the sound of gunshots and the feeling of a parent swooping them into their arms and running to safety.
Not Fast Enough
I’m not despondent at the idea of Finn being one of the children who was shot. My brain won’t allow me to think that dark of a thought and still function in everyday life, so I refuse to go down that path. What I can’t handle at this moment is even the thought of Finn being one of the kids at the rally. Playing, singing, seeing his heroes drunk and silly on stage, then seconds later running for his life. Fast enough hopefully to save his life, but not fast enough to save his innocence.
That’s the battle that we as parents fight. And it’s a futile battle. Eventually a moment comes when children learn that the world isn’t safe, it isn’t fair, it isn’t even sane. The challenge for every parent is delaying that moment for as long as possible. So when Finn came home and wanted to watch the parade, I told him it wasn’t on YouTube. When he asked to see pictures, I showed him those, checking first to make sure that there was no mention of the shooting in the captions. I feel a pang of guilt for lying to my son, but that guilt is the debt I’ll gladly accrue to shield him from the horrors of the day.
When I put him to bed, I hugged him a little tighter than usual. He asked me why I was hugging him so tight. I told him, “Because you’re the best kid in the world!”
I didn’t tell him the truth. I was hugging a little tighter because there were parents in Kansas City who had to say goodnight to their kids while they laid in hospital beds. Their lives preserved, but their innocence lost forever.