Anonymous (HPHS Class of 2014)

I find myself in a land of in-between, where my heart and soul are stuck in time, grieving, while the rest of the world moves on around me. Where a scroll through social media abruptly shifts from powerful posts about gun violence to someone dancing around their kitchen, and then to a cat falling off a swing. Where people at work in meetings ask how everyone’s 4th of July weekend was- unfazed- and me being confused by the question, because how could it be good? Where people asked “Did you hear about the shooting? My husband’s friend from work’s uncle is from there” not realizing where I am from. Do I lie and say ‘fine”- wouldn’t want to be a buzzkill? Do I hit them with the reality just to remind them that it happened at all? After all, 3 days is the amount of time it takes the rest of the world to get over a mass shooting.  I find myself realizing the unique impact this has had on our lives. As someone who loves rules, black and white, a clear path, and drawn-out plays in sports, I am at a standstill. One moment I wonder if I should still be crying, another wondering why I am not. Looking for the “right way” to grieve, the “right way” to proceed with everyday life. But there is no playbook for this. We just do this the best way we can, because we surely don’t know how. So I decided to write- that is my “game plan.” That does not have to be your game plan, cause like I said there isn’t one to begin with. But here is where I found myself. 

“Highland Park is a bubble,” they say. A bubble in which we are shielded from the realities of the outside world. A bubble that protected our innocence, and that’s enrapture created a space of growth and a safety net to fall back on when we failed. A bubble in which nearly no one was a stranger, a bubble that enclosed a community knit together by common values, goals, and experiences.   

“Highland Park is a bubble,” they say. When we heard people say that we would giggle at the privileged reality, it’s understood truth, yet still not quite getting how good we had it. On July 4th, 2022- that bubble was violently and horrifically popped. 

Our bubble was unique in so many ways and for so much more than I’ve already listed. When I think of our bubble, I think of excellence. Amazing schools that fostered motivation and created excellent learners, and generations of successful individuals. Adults that looked out for every kid as though they were their own. I think of the nary a worry that crossed my mind as I told my mom I was going to hang out with my friends in Port Clinton Square. I think of the DQ blizzards that melted over my hands as over the years I climbed on the fountain, slid my fingers over the grooves and ridges of the Highland Park map, and texted crushes for the first time as we sat along the steps. I think of all the team meals scarfing down apple pancakes right next door, where I knew my mom was not worried if I came home a little later from practice than she expected- because we were in Highland Park. “Nothing bad happens in Highland Park”. “Highland Park is a bubble”. 

Now when you think of Highland Park, you think of tragedy. You think only of the moment that caused this bubble to rupture in the most unimaginable of ways. You think of numbers: the number of rounds shot, number of lives lost, injuries incurred, guns in the shooter's car, the channels of news outlets that littered the streets waiting for their next update, and the 308th number on a running list of events afflicted by America’s plague. These numbers represent a sole moment- our darkest moment- and yet paint a picture that looms largest in the eyes of the outside world. Highland Park, on July 4th, 2022, became a number to you. But this place is so much more than a number. 

Highland Park is always running into a friend- old or new- on your weekly trip to Love’s. Highland Park is playing ghosts in the graveyard on summer nights. Highland Park is waking up at the crack of dawn to be first in line for Focus on the Arts sign-ups. Highland Park is the town that gave us role models to look up to, and spaces to help us become those people for the next generation. Highland Park is saying “I’m just running to Sunset, I’ll be right back” not planning on chatting with anyone, but it almost always takes an hour because it simply is not possible. Highland Park is the fight song on the way home from every away sports game, banging on bus windows "be it bright or stormy weather", win or lose. But most of all, Highland Park is the people. The people that sat on those buses with me, that taught me in school, that looked out for me even when I didn’t know it. The people in my family that are never more than a 5-minute drive or 15-minute walk from my own home. The people that sprung into action when in the one moment the rest of the world knows about, they did what they always do- they were there. They were there with fundraisers, donations, food, gatherings, shoulders to cry on, and hands to hold. The people who are so incredibly strong, who are bent but not broken, and who make me incredibly proud to know them, or to even be associated with them. These things are unquantifiable. And for that reason, you do not see it as we do. 

So think about the people in your own lives, the people that make you proud. I grew up in a world surrounded by those people. We didn’t need something like this to happen to prove the strength of this community, to prove its very nature- nowhere does. But even in this moment of horror, the people of Highland Park did what they do best- they were there. 

“Highland Park is a bubble,” they say- Yeah. We wish.