The Founding Father would give Me no Answer

  I saw one of the founding fathers walking through the carnage of our latest mass shooting. I was sure I recognized him.
  "Excuse me, sir, aren't you . . ."
   He cut me off.
   "If you would be so kind," he said, "please do not utter my name -- no, not at this time."
   He looked shaken. He looked humbled. His eyes passed along the floor, bodies strewn everywhere. It occurred to me that I was in a make-believe world, for there were no ambulances picking up the dead, no police running everywhere. There was just me, the founding father . . .
   And, the dead.
   The founding father gazed at the dead, then swung his head back to me. He didn't say anything, though, just sat there, and after a moment, I realized he was waiting for me to say something.
  "Okay," I offered. "I suppose if I were ever to have a moment with one of the founding fathers of our country . . . at a time like this . . ."
   I broke off for a moment, then continued. "I suppose I would ask him about the Second Amendment -- I suppose I would."
   He glanced down at the floor, then looked back up. He thought for a while, then said, "Well, I know they say we were inspired. And, I don't doubt it. We wrote a wonderful document."
  Both of our eyes left each other for a moment, and together we gazed over the carnage.
  "Of course, we didn't envision this," he said.
   It was quiet for a moment, then he repeated the words of the Second Amendment. "A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed."
   Our eyes were fixed on each other now, considering together the issue at hand.
   "You are going to have to go ahead on your own on this matter," he said. "Though, I suppose if I wanted, I could offer some advice. I could tell you whether we would change the Second Amendment, whether we would take weapons of mass destruction out of everyone's hands."
   He was quiet for a while, then he continued. "If a nation is to survive, it cannot live on the wisdom of the past, alone. It must add to what it has been given, wisdom of its own. Your times are peculiar to you, your challenges and issues are different than ours."
   He paused, again, then said: "If I were to come back from the dead -- a ghost, if you will -- and tell you what to do, that would defeat the way it needs to be done. We can't hold your hand. You've got to learn to make your own decisions. You are big boys, big girls. You have the capability to think. You can see your problems and challenges. Surely you ought to realize you simply need to think this through, and decide what is wise . . .
   "And do it."
   Suddenly, I noticed his image and the image of the dead strewn on the floor was growing dim. "We may have been wise," he said, "but these times are not ours, they are yours. You might borrow on our wisdom, but in the end, you will  find you are much on your own. If you are to survive, your wisdom must equal that of the past."
  With that, the final traces of the images disappeared. He was gone. The bodies were gone. Even the building was gone. And, I was left standing in an empty field.
   Feeling very much alone.

(Index: Story)