Bomb

The other day, a young man blew himself up in the park across the street from where I live.  My wife and I were awoken by the blast, but assumed it was an uncomfortably close bolt of lighting, and went back to sleep.  The Evanston police did something similar.  Although several citizens called in the blast, they found nothing.  It was only a couple hours later that a man walking his dog found the headless body.  And, oh yeah, there was another bomb.   Here is a picture of the bomb squad in action, taken from our kitchen window, shortly after they detonated the second device:

Turns out that that bomber went to the same high school as my wife, Madison West.  (Yet another reason why Madison Memorial is superior.)  The bomber's family says it was a suicide, and that the bomber had battled depression all his life.  Very sad, if so.  Though I must say that this was a very thorough suicide, seeing as how he apparently brought an extra bomb.

But all's well that ends well:  today I went back to the park with my two-and-a-half year-old daughter.  (She kept saying, "We go to the park now."  She had no answer for my question, "Do you really think that's appropriate?"  Nonetheless, I yielded--but only after forcing her to add "please" to the request / demand.)  Although a tree or two have been chopped down (biohazard, goes the rumor), we got some new swings out of the deal.

UPDATE:


Evanston police have ruled the death a suicide.