I’m a 17-year-old high school student living in Utah, and the number of stomachs a cow possesses is more shocking to me than the shootings that occur within this country. Isn’t that sad? Shouldn’t we ask why or how it is that this could’ve happened?
Instead, we turn our heads as if we’re passing an unfamiliar face on the street. Shootings these days seem as common as the sun rising in the morning and setting at night. My parents fled their homelands and looked to America as a beacon of light and safe passage when they were even younger than I am now.