These are turbulent times, to say the least. There are moments when I feel hopeful about the prospects for achieving long overdue change, for bending the arc of the universe that much further toward justice. There are other moments when I feel utter despair, when I lean into my belief that the entirety of Republican America is hell bent on burning the house down...with all of us inside.
Through all of this, I remain a parent. Also a wife, with a parenting partner. The mother of one child who is autistic, and also lives with epilepsy and ulcerative colitis. The mother of another child who contends with anxiety and panic issues. And yet another whose stoicism sometimes worries me the most. I fear what his silence is masking. Is it his own fear, his rage at how things have played out in the America he has committed to serving? Is it something else altogether?
I have always tried--and will continue to try--to model for my children who and how I want them to be in the world. I don't dictate their responses, though. I have been the only one to attend a protest so far. My daughter gets anxious in crowds, so her going might be more counter-productive than not. Instead, I feel pride in her willingness to ask people of color when she doesn't know, or thinks she might not understand. I feel pride in her standing up against bullies online who still belittle the struggles of America's black citizens, or make facile comparisons with white folks' experiences. I applaud her leaning in to difficult discussions, and trying to make sense of the deluge of opinions and the volume of commentary under which a less thoughtful person might feel buried, and defeated.
I would take my autistic son, but the chance that he might act out in some way would be unfair to other marchers, especially since it would be indescribably difficult to explain to him what's going on and why. Although in truth, I could explain it quite well in simple terms he would understand, something along the lines of: there are bad people in America who are mean to other people because of the color of their skin. Noah is very much NOT ok with mean or bad people. That's a lesson we've taught that he's learned well. And I'm more grateful than ever in this moment that we made the effort to communicate that to him, his barriers to understanding notwithstanding.
As for my eldest, I wonder if it's especially painful for him to bear witness to all that is unfolding in America. He is officially an officer in the United States Navy, though he has yet to assume his post. People in uniform--though not the one he will wear--are the object of justified anger on the part of many millions of his fellow citizens. Those uniformed individuals are part of an armed bureaucracy that has for too long tolerated the abuse of black Americans. Is the military a kind of parallel to that in any way? It has long been considered a place far more meritocratic than the private sector in America, far more willing to embrace diversity, and to recognize that life and death decisions among its ranks need to be as close to color blind as possible. Choosing to see skin color in a fox hole can get everyone killed. Is it a perfect world? Not by a long shot. But still...
I asked my eldest if he wanted to join me or go alone to any of the protests. "It's not my thing," he replied. Some might pounce, get angry, judge him for not being woke enough to march. But that would just show how faulty snap judgements can be. He knows more and is more aware than so many his age. And what he knows comes not just from what we've taught him and from what he imbibes through reading and the like, but through the web of relationships he has developed through the years with peers from a breathtaking range of backgrounds. He has listened well, learned well, and been not only a good friend, but a good ally. So I don't push on marching. That's always been more of my thing.
I do wonder more broadly what forward momentum looks like in these times. What is it within a single family? How do we measure it, if we measure it at all? How do I nurture what I know is good and "right thinking" among my kids, while not pushing aside any challenging, complicating questions they might have? How do I improve my own listening skills as a parent, so I can hear not only their words, but their silences? How do I deal with any of my own missteps, especially now, when every misstep seems so weighted down by other stuff, and by the collective weight of past mistakes and missteps?
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