Playful Rooted

I’m sitting at Luca’s Taekwondo class as I write this. There are probably 25 kids here, ranging in age from 5 to 8. And two instructors. Unless you live under a rock (I might like to join you), you can see where I’m going with this, where my heart is right now. Where so many of your hearts are, too. Devastated. Broken. Again. How?

I’m in the spectator seats with all the other parents, and to be honest? Most of us aren’t paying much attention to our kids. Even today. We’re typing on our laptops, staring at our phones, making grocery lists, chatting with each other. 

What if we knew? What if we knew this was the last time we would ever watch them practice? That we would never again hold their little hands in ours, never exasperatedly make them another snack, tell them another story? Never again watch the slight, beautiful rise and fall of their chests, never again wake to their rumpled hair and cozy bodies in our beds, warm with sleep. Never again hear them laugh? How differently we would be acting right now. We are here, here, with our babies. Our perfect, precious children. Our hearts, walking around outside our bodies. How deeply they are loved. How deeply all of the children who have been senselessly, ruthlessly slaughtered must have been loved.

One of my friends remarked today, “I don’t know why I’m so, so upset about this, but I can’t get it over it.” Well, I think we owe it to 21 grieving mothers to be so, so upset about this. We owe it to them not to get over it. We owe it to the fathers and the grandparents and the siblings who have had a piece of their soul ripped away from them, who will be forever changed. Parts of them will be lost forever. The fabric of their families has been shredded beyond repair.

Is it all about money, all of it? Is corporate greed really THAT much stronger than the voices of the citizens? Whatever your politics, wherever you stand on abortion or immigration or social programs, I don’t believe that anyone thinks it’s okay for their child to walk into school one morning and never walk back out. I can’t even write the words that are in my head because they’re too horrible. But those words are the reality for 21 families today. It’s unthinkable. Unconscionable. Inhumane.

A different person I know said that he, at least, feels comfortable because his daughter goes to school in a district that can afford police officers at every door, metal detectors, and technology to sign visitors in and out. So it can’t happen to his child. But of course, 1. It can happen anywhere in America. The grocery store, the shopping mall, the movie theater, a concert; almost literally, anywhere. And 2. Does the fact that affluent communities can afford protection relieve us of the responsibility of taking action for the communities that can’t afford it? Because my children are “safe,” I don’t need to stand up to protect other children who aren’t? No. I won’t accept that. Be better. Be better than that.

A blogger I follow shared some great information that she saw on Instagram today. This is a small thing, but it’s a thing we can ALL do. Rather than reinvent the wheel, I’m copying it here.

This is from @jamiebgolden.

It sounds so insignificant. It sounds useless. I know. But it’s something. And what I can’t do is nothing. What I can’t say is nothing.

And apparently there are lots of people who work in politics who have shared that it DOES make a difference for you to voice your opinion. These numbers are tallied and maybe – MAYBE – if we create enough waves, we can also force change.

As human beings, we owe it to each other to do ANYTHING we can to protect our young ones. What would you wish people to do for you in the same situation? Nothing, or something?

Find your senators’ contact info here.

And your congressperson’s info here.

Call your representatives. Email them. Encourage your partner to call them too. Tell your friends, your parents, your families. Every phone call drives these numbers up and can effect change.

For your babies and mine.

xo