I’ve lived in the Twin Cities for almost 11 years. It’s definitely become my home. The summers here can’t be beat, it’s close enough to our extended families, and was recently named the Top Place To Live in the US. That’s amazing. That’s SO GOOD. And it helps solidify that we’re in the right place for our young growing family…. I hope.
Last night, I made the trek to the North Loop as I usually do on Tuesdays and Thursdays. My significant other works in the Warehouse District, and we’re currently sharing a car. It’s not ideal, but my oldest has grown to love exploring downtown and I love to encourage it. I didn’t grow up in a big metropolitan area – visiting Minneapolis was a big deal, so I like to take full advantage of all the “big city” has to offer us.
But, something was different last night. We pulled up to our exit to find it lined with police cars.
“Mom! Look at all the police cars!” My oldest yelled from the backseat. I acknowledged all the cars, but felt something in the pit of my stomach, too. I quickly remembered the shootings that occurred into the protests and wondered what I was driving into.
We drove further into downtown and got to Washington Ave. There were police cars everywhere. I felt safe – the police were there to protect not only the people protesting them, but the general public, too, but it was still unnerving to see….to think this kind of protection was even needed. We couldn’t get to where we were headed right then, so we stopped. There were hundreds of people marching down Washington with signs and banners.
“Mom! Can we get out and watch the parade?” My oldest asked. “Can I go get candy?!”
My heart sank. This innocent soul. It hit me like a punch to the stomach, literally almost taking my breath away. If only, sweet boy. If only that was the parade you thought it was. But this “parade” stands for so much more than you can understand right now.
“Aw, bud. That’s not a parade.” I told him.
“Then what are they doing? Why are all those people in the street with signs?”
How am I supposed to talk to him about this? A 3-year old. How am I supposed to explain to this sweet child that the world isn’t always going to be parades? That things, terrible, horrible things, happen every single day, and we’re lucky enough right now to not have to experience it all first-hand? To stand on the sidelines, watching.
“Well, this is called a protest. A protest is when a group of people don’t agree with something, or want to raise awareness, and they get together to express their feelings publicly. Many times they’re angry or disappointed.”
“What are they angry about? I get angry, too, sometimes!”
Well, honey. These people are protesting something big, called racial inequality. They’re protesting the treatment of certain people. They’re protesting because a police officer shot someone, and there’s a disagreement on what happened. They’re protesting some of the very police that are protecting them right now. The police who are driving their vehicles down the street in front of and behind them to protect them, and giving them safety to voice their concerns. And last night, some terrible men decided to start shooting at the protestors, so the police are trying to protect them even more now.
That was the truth after all, right? But I couldn’t say that. Not then. Not now. He’s only 3.
He’ll learn about inequality, as much as I hope every. single. day. that our world will change and people’s minds will open wider. That maybe someday, we’ll focus more on people’s actions and less on their skin color. He’ll learn about hate and about death and murder. He’ll learn someday, sooner than I want, that our world can be really ugly.
As I ran all this through my head, it started to become confusing even for me. It brought on so many more questions for myself.
Why?
Why can’t we all just not yield weapons at each other?
Why can’t we use our voices instead of arms?
Why am I more afraid of showing my child the local news – real life – than I am of him discovering video games?
How am I supposed to teach this little boy, who truly believes everyone is his friend, that there are good and bad people, in every profession?
How am I supposed to know anymore who is good and who is bad if I can’t even feel safe going to a movie theater or sending him to school?
How am I supposed to teach him to be brave when I’m trying so hard not to be scared myself?
Luckily, he fell asleep waiting and has seemingly forgotten it all. But I watched the people march peacefully in the cold, guided and protected by the very people they were protesting. There are good people, and there are bad people. Last night, while they maybe don’t agree on the issues, all of those people were good people. There were good people marching respectfully and peacefully, standing firm for their beliefs. There were good police officers – some I am sure were there on their day off – working to protect this group.
I realized that I don’t have to tell my kids about the evils in the world. They’ll learn about them on their own, and I’ll be there to comfort them.
It’s my job to make sure they’re always able to still see the good. It’s my job to make sure they know everyone’s life matters.
Photo courtesy of NPR
