I got into an ugly argument with a bunch of white girls over racial issues this week. I think all of my pent up aggression is starting to seep out and maybe I should think about taking up boxing. Or maybe I need to take my own advice and stop internetting altogether.
But wait … let me back up.
I don’t feel like belaboring what is happening in my life personally or what is happening in my home town or in my country, because it is so much. Good things, like when I met Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen a few weeks ago (both were an utter delight), and also a lot of really terrible things, like people dying and then the entire country arguing over whose fault it is.
And in between all of that, my kids are covering their bedroom doors with toothpaste, and no one will own up to it. I’m trying to come up with new and inventive ways to mold them into functional members of society on very little sleep. This probably isn’t going to end well.
When I sit by myself in the dark, in the quiet, stripping away all the things that make my life loud — children, social media, the television, and my own neuroses – I am left with thoughts that pound so loudly in my head that I cannot ignore them.
If I know something is wrong, yet I say nothing about it, then I am a coward.
If I want my children to be brave, then I have to demonstrate bravery.
If I want my children to fight injustice, then I have to fight injustice.
If I want my children to speak up when they observe things that bother them, then I have to do the same.
Even though it’s uncomfortable. Even though, and especially because, it’s scary.
If we are going to change the world, make it a better place, or do any of the other fancy-sounding things that songs are written about, then it starts with PARENTS.
It starts with me.