Take a knee, white America

I stand with the protestors.  I stand, or would kneel with those players who are trying to quietly and respectfully say to White America--"Wake Up!  Check your privilege.  Black Lives Matter."  As a mom of children of color I worry for my kids when they are out.  I worry about the young teen who loves hoodies now and is sooooo into the color black.  I worry for my 21 year old who is sure he knows it all and is often walking home from a late shift at the restaurant.  I worry that my young 10 year old daughter will be accused of "asking for it"   Her lovely pre-teen body looks older than her years.  Black girls want it, don't you know?

I am appalled that our country is even in this place.  I am still trying to figure out how we got here--or worse, if we were always here and I was so privileged I didn't know it.  I am so scared by the fact that there seems to be no way to even talk about this issue.  People either support BLM or they don't.  Those that don't, at least in my experience don't want to talk.  From the few I have managed to engage in dialogue this is what I got:

*no one owns slaves these days so this is a non issue. Everyone has the same opportunities.
*football players make millions of dollars and have no right to express their views on the field. aka they are naughty employees
*taking a knee is disrespectful to our flag and our country.  (I find this one particularly interesting as kneeling is a common posture in prayer. Also it is somewhat subservient (such as swearing fealty to a lord or king long ago.)
*if they want to protest they should do it off the field (but they should not block traffic, they should not shout, they should not use violence, they should not. . . the list is endless)
*it should be All Lives Matter
*if they did what the police told them, if they obeyed the laws of our great country, there would be no problems.

The problem is in my eyes, that for there to be a solution, white America has to be prepared to be uncomfortable.  We have to own that we are the problem.  The fact that my extended family can't see that and quietly unfriend me on social media for my views is emblematic of how divisive this is--of how unwilling the empassioned are to hear another view.  The people who did this love my kids, but they see them as somehow "other."  As in, my kids would never get shot by the police because I raised them right.

I hope to all the gods people pray to that the folks who say that are right.  But statistics show that they may not be. And is it even reasonable to assume that EVERY single unarmed black person who was shot was not raised correctly.  It just surpasses the bounds of reason.

I won't let my 13 year old son play outside with a cosplay decorated water gun.  I won't let him wear a Halloween costume that looks threatening and is dark colors.  Being seen by traffic is only part of it.  He could also be seen by a nervous home owner, or a rookie police officer who views the world through a skewed lens.  He will be out with friends on his own for the first time.  What if they do something silly?  They are 13 and I didn't always make the best choice at that age.  But I didn't worry about getting killed either. My son will go as a vampire rabbit.  His choice when I nixed all the others and it is funny.  It is white. It is safe.

But that situation is part of the dialogue of life for black America.  How to stay safe.  How to be heard. May we somehow hear what is really being said.

Precious moments

I am increasingly aware that life is so very precious and that joy is often found most in the smallest of things.  Like the gladioli in the picture above.  We planted them last year and they did nothing.  Literally.  Nada.  We forgot about them.  And for whatever reason, a few of them decided to bloom this year.  Well, two to be exact. But they are stunning.  One is a deep fuschia and one is a paler softer pink. My grandmother loved glads.  Looking at these two on our kitchen altar makes me smile and feel her spirit close to me again.

Yoga class renews my spirit weekly.  I don't love yoga as much as I love zumba but at least it is an hour that I can give to my body.  To stretch, to bend and to take an hours pause in our busy life.

Laughter.  The silly jokes the kids make up these days. Some "cringy" as KC puts it; some surprisingly witty.  I cherish the time together as a family. As the kids have gotten older and involved in a wide array of different activities, time for all of us to be together is even more cherished.  I know that time comes ever closer when it will be just Chet, Kirsty and I again at the table.  This is how it should be and I am proud of their confidence-their friendships and their passions.

Fiona has been struggling greatly lately.  The outward symbol of her anger is my refusal to let her pierce her navel.  The reality is that a peer left the house and this is the deepest cause of her unhappiness. To her it is another example of someone succeeding in a way she has not yet.  It is hard to face that, so it is easier to find something to be angry about and someone to pin it on.  I did not actually say no to the piercing, but I did say we needed an okay from her doctor. But it wasn't a "yes, jump in the car, we gotta do this NOW!" kind of answer so she became enraged.

This is always the hard part with Fi. She goes from happy to enraged in a nanosecond.  She had literally had a wonderful time at home and called me when she got back to the group residence asking about the piercing.  Fi is prediabetic which makes her more prone to infection. She has also some issues surrounding self care and is not reliable about keeping a wound clean. So the lack of a yes has been the catalyst to spiral her into a very angry state.

I am not sure how to best help her with this.  She has decided that I am the root of all that is unsatisfactory in her life.  I am not willing to wear that cloak and have told her so.  Loving her and caring for her does not mean I can or will agree with everything she wants to do. She is entitled to her anger, entitled to her feelings of frustration.  I get that. I am trying to give her some space and hope that at some point, she will be in a place where we can talk things through but so far, nothing close to that is happening.

So I will look at my glads, listen to music that I love and breathe deeply.

The kids have wheels--bike wheels that is!

 It's been a long bikeless year for us here.  Last year, our bikes were stolen out of our shed.  It was traumatic at a number of levels.  For KC it was particularly painful as he had the previous December won a really beautiful Trex bike at our city holiday event.  It was a gorgeous bike, far beyond our price point.  He had barely ridden it as snow came early and then in spring, it was stolen.

It was obviously our fault.  We should have locked the shed.  But our city has not typically been a place where you had to lock things up.  So this new found knowledge brought pain as well.  Most times, our city has big city opportunities but kind of a smaller city feel.  There are festivals in the center of town, a farmers market weekly down there, free concerts on the common in the summer.  Food festivals galore throughout the year.  The list is really endless. But though they may lead to seeing friends and neighbors, we don't live in Mayberry RFD.

Despite all that, the opiod crisis is strongly felt here and likely contributed to the bike thefts. Lissa's bike was taken as well as Robs in the same sweep.  Mine was not because it was hanging up and far too difficult to remove quickly.

A few weeks ago I got Lissa a new bike.  It is a rather inexpensive big box discount store model, but she is growing so much that it does not make sense to invest in a pricey bike right now.  I was saving for one for KC when our friend (who is also KC's godfather) heard of the situation and offered a free used bike for him.  It had been given to him by someone and he has not gotten into riding as he thought he might.  So for the price of a tune up, my son has some nice new wheels again.

At first, he was afraid to ride the bike.  This one is bigger, but truly fits his growing, oh-so-tall young mans body.  But he is feeling all clumsy elbows, knees and gangly these days.  The bike seemed gigantic to him.  I assured him it was not and he could do it.  Sent him up the sidewalk listening to his dramatic discourse on how he was going to fall and break a limb right before dance classes resumed. (laughing in my head at the ranting!)

Tonight he and Lissa went for a bike ride and as I  suspected, the lure of freedom,the feel of the breeze as he moved his bike along the sidewalks, overcame his fear.  He came home with a gigantic smile on his face and said "it's back!  my confidence is BACK!"

I told him how happy I was (watched Lissa roll her eyes in the background--she's been out riding for weeks since she got her bike) and we talked of a family bike ride once my bike gets tuned up. I'm looking forward to it. There are some nice bike trails in our area and it will be fun to explore these together.