I do not consider myself to be a great American. I am not especially patriotic. But I will always be a son of the Great State of Massachusetts.
Boston, I love you and I hate that this is why eyes are turned to you.
I hate that crackpots filled crock-pots with nails and ball bearings. I hate that someone wants to tear your people apart: the folks who came to run farther than people should, or the people who came to cheer them on and grab them when it was over.
Boston, I love that the littlest guy in town wants to fight the most, and I hate that the smallest person in our fair city thinks they got the best of us today.
Boston, I love you and I hate that there is blood on your streets again. We have a violence in our state’s history, but before, it was the product a people’s attempt to try something new. To test the idea of freedom and see what would happen.
The first time Boston was massacred, it was Crispus Attucks, Samuel Gray and James Caldwell who were lost. And they died in the name of freedom. This time around, freedom wasn’t at stake– it was simply someone’s desire to frighten. At least the British played drums when they came. This time, it was the cowardly and insidious marching. This time, it was 8-year-old Martin Richard of Dorchester, 29-year-old Krystle Campbell of Medford and another as-of-now unnamed innocent who were taken away from our New England… the reasons left only to speculation.
Boston, I love that there is a point between miles 20 and 21 called Heartbreak Hill and hate that so many hearts were broken on Monday.
I love that you have a thing called Patriot’s Day. On that day, people push themselves to their limits, and the Red Sox play the only game all year scheduled before lunch. And I hate that forever, this will be tied to it.
Boston, I love that 24,662 people started running today for whatever reason was in their hearts, and I hate that some others had to run toward explosions out of necessity.
I love you, Boston. I love you, Great State of Massachusetts.