This Child's Life Matters

I have been sitting on my sofa for hours watching buildings burn down, people being gassed, and anger that has been trapped inside people spring out in force. As I was watching this my phone rang and the voice on the other end of the phone asked me how I was doing. I started by saying "I'm sad", and I was. I have been crying off and on all night thinking about this situation. But as I started to explain why I was sad, I could feel this rage lift inside of me and I realized I am deeply sad, but I am incredibly angry.

Michael Brown was a child whose life mattered. He was a kid that made some poor choices, but so did I when I was young. The difference is I never had to fear for my life. I almost ran a police officer over because I was not paying attention while driving and I didn't even get a ticket. I have never feared the police, and that is a privilege in our country.

I first learned about privilege when I was in the third grade and saw racism for the first time. My parents bought me a biography of MLK to help me understand the dichotomy of oppression and privilege . But it wasn't until I was 18 and my boss/mentor Joey sat me down and really talked to me about what it means to have privilege, that I truly comprehended my privilege. Then I did what most middle class white girls do, I felt guilty and I tried harder than I should have. I  blundered through learning how to cope with something I had always possessed. But as I grew I settled into what it means to know that just because of where you were born, what you look like, and how much money your parents make, you have different rights and freedoms. Eventually I learned how to take that knowledge and transform my guilt into action and understanding.

So as I sit tonight mourning the life of Michael Brown and the children in my community that have been killed because of where they live, what they look like, and how much money their parents make. I want to scream THIS CHILD'S LIFE MATTERED! Someone found joy in his first steps, his first words, the first time he went potty in the big boy potty. He studied for spelling tests, and wore his best clothes on picture day at school. He proudly put on a cap and gown and graduated from high school beating the odds of thousands of students who drop-out of school every year. His friends called him Mike and his mother called him son.

For me this is less about police officers or gun laws. It's about seeing children as people, about zip code not dictating if you will have to be afraid of being killed or imprisoned, it's about seeing a young person as a human full of promise and talent, not a threat.  Yes we must work hard to fix the system, but more importantly we must dissect how we treat children, all children, regardless of where they were born, what they look like and how much money their parents make.

We must look at the life of Michael Brown and say, this child mattered.

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For No Reason at All

I can remember being a little girl lying in my bed trying to go to sleep, and I would be struck with crippling anxiety. I would get out of bed in the middle of the night, or maybe 10pm, and go out into the living room where my mom was watching Johnny Carson and cry. I would not know why I was crying. But I can remember sitting on the couch cuddled up to my mom and just spilling my soul. She would rub my head and tell me it was going to be okay, and just as I would calm down another wave of fear and anxiety would break and I would be weeping, releasing all the struggles and fears of a 4th grader. The next day I would have a kind of emotional hang over and I would usually stay home from school thinking and watching Little House on the Prairie.

Last night I was up 'til 3am with a similar feeling. No tears, no mom to make it better, jut a thousand thoughts I could not turn off: Am I doing all I can to better myself? Does he think of me as much as I think of him? Do they like me? Why have I not gone to church in four months? I should get up and clean the kitchen. Is it snowing? Should I live this far away from my family? and just as I would try to answer one of these questions the next one would bubble up and I was paralyzed lying there. I eventually went to sleep and when I woke up this morning I had a bit of an emotional hang over, though I worked today instead of watching Little House on the Prairie.

Tonight I was cleaning the kitchen and listening to music and I heard this song and it opened me up, the way music does. And it made me remember that I am trying, and trying is hard. It made me realize that being open to love, and change, and more than what you have now, is brave and can be crippling. But I stood in my kitchen sang this song as if I were the lead in my own Broadway musical and cried. I cried because I ate two english muffins with butter for dinner. I cried because I push when all I want is to pull people closer. I cried because some day Polly is going to die. I just cried.

And I am here again. Spilling my guts to family, friends, and strangers. I want more of this life and I want to try harder, to be braver, to live bigger, and to love with all I am. So I need goals, because as Pam Gerber taught me "Systems Will Set You Free". I need routine and goals, I also need to write this blog. I need to release. And sometimes I just need to cry.