I am so grateful for the community of writers that show up each week at Two Writing Teachers.
Just a week ago I anticipated watching a historical moment for our country, the election of our first woman president. We all know how that ended. I went to bed last Tuesday hoping against hope that when I woke the tide had changed. It didn’t.
I’d spent the night with grandgirl (who turns 12 this week) and I wondered what to say to her. All I could say was we’d be okay but I felt like I was not being truthful. Will we be okay? Will her friends be okay? Will she hear and see hateful things as a result of the election?
I was in my teens during the sixties. The most in the way of protesting during high school was using fluorescent body paint to create peace not war signs on my legs. During college, there were protests but my group didn’t involve ourselves much. It’s safe to say being an activist is not my strong suit (although in the eighties I spoke out against book banning).
But now I must speak out. I am planning to be a part of the Portland Women’s March in January. I am calling my government representatives regarding certain appointments that are being made. I am acknowledging students who show acts of kindness.
I only need to look at my grandgirls and know this is required of me.
I only need to listen the students at my school speak of their fears or even unkind things (yes, we had students say”build the wall” at recess and I wonder if they really knew what they were saying) and know this is required of me.
I only need to look at my great nephew with a Jewish last name or gay members of my family and know this is is required of me.
It scares me. It’s out of my comfort zone. I have lived a life of white privilege and now I must act.