Yesterday, Elysha, the kids, and I attended a rally in the center of our town in support of George Floyd, Black Lives Matter, and anyone who wants to bring an end to racial injustice in our country. Before arriving at the rally, we discussed the purpose of marching with the kids and explained why it’s so important to show our support.
Not being racist isn’t enough anymore, we explained. Instead, we told Clara and Charlie that we need to be anti-racist. We need to take action whenever possible to support and defend the rights of people of color in this country. We can’t just be good. We need to do good.
Credit Elysha for much of this. About an hour before the rally, I had caught a tree branch while biking and had been thrown over my handlebars. I tore open my right knee, bashed in my left shoulder, and smacked my helmeted head on the ground. By the time I rode the mile home, blood had run down my leg and into my shoe, soaking my sock, and my shoulder was throbbing. It would’ve been easy to skip the rally, but Elysha was determined to go and convinced me to do the same.
As we marched with protesters down the streets of our town, I marveled at the number of protesters, the support and professionalism of dozens of police officers in keeping the protesters safe, and the fact that all of this was happening in the midst of a global pandemic.
Every single person was wearing a mask.
At various points during the march, we found ourselves alongside friends, neighbors, colleagues, and our children’s classmates. A longtime resident of Newington told us that in her 50 years living in town, she didn’t think there had ever been a protest march until yesterday.
All around the country, residents of large cities, medium sized towns, and even sleepy little villages are rising up and protesting.
It’s remarkable.
As we neared the end of the march, Elysha and I suddenly realized that Charlie was no longer with us. As we crossed a street and went straight, Charlie had followed a group that veered left, and within seconds, we could no longer find him. He was probably missing for less than two minutes, but it felt as if about two years had passed before we spotted him again.
Happily, all of the training that Elysha has been doing with the kids for years kicked in. Charlie immediately found a mother with children and asked for help. She brought Charlie back onto Main Street where he quickly spotted Clara and then Elysha.
Hugs and tears commenced, followed by hand-holding for the remainder of the march.
As we were nearing the end of the march, Charlie was walking along the sidewalk, speaking to one of his classmates. I overheard him tell her, “I think America is great, but it’s got some problems right now. We need to fix them. We’re just kids, but still. At least we’re marching.”
You wonder when you bring your children to a rally like this if anything will make sense to your kids.
Will it mean anything to them?
Do they understand?
Will they remember?
When it comes to Clara, I don’t have to wonder. At the age of 11, she is an ardent, vocal feminist and a serious student of history. When she overheard Elysha explaining a few of the important moments in World War 2 to a student the other day, Clara piped in and said, “Don’t forget the Japanese invasion of Manchuria!”
Clara understands because of who she is.
But Charlie? I wasn’t so sure. He’s incredibly observant and absorbs a lot of information, but I didn’t know if a rally like this would make any sense to him.
Listening to him explain America to his classmate made it clear to me that he did.
