The Boston Marathon bombing

My mom lives six blocks west of the site of the attack, in a beautiful early 20th century building that looks out on the Fens.

The Fens is a green belt with a creek that runs through it out to the Charles River. Looking out her window, you would never know you are in the middle of a major city, and just three blocks from Fenway Park.

When I talked to her, she told me she thought it was an electric substation that blew up. One did, not far away, about four months ago and left her in the dark for four days.

I wish she had been right. As I write this, we don’t know who was responsible. But we do know why they did it: to terrorize us.

As awful as the attack was, I hope we aren’t terrorized. I hope the Boston Marathon runs next year as it has every year since 1897. I hope hundreds of thousands of people line the route from Hopkington to the Prudential Center to cheer the runners on. I hope the weather is perfect and there’s a new record set.

I hope there is security. Enough, but not too much. If this attack substantially changes the nature of the Marathon, then we have been terrorized and whoever did this won.