March for Our Lives-FW

 

Marching was the last thing I wanted to do today. But I did it anyway. I joined the March for Our Lives protest in Fort Worth. I was tired, burned out from work, and would have much rather have slept in. But, after years of trying, and failing, to get people to care, now that people are finally giving a damn I can’t in good conscious sit at home and do nothing.

I graduated high school in the much hyped year of 2000. And I wanted to change the world. I wanted to organize for feminist causes. I wrote letters to my representatives, lamented that there were no organizations of like minded individuals in my school. Aside from me, no one seemed to care. Even in college, when the US invaded Iraq, I went to a peace rally that had a grand total of maybe thirty students. Even getting my fellow college students, who would complain about the campus housing constantly (there was only one campus housing complex on my campus, and they took full advantage of that)  to just sign a petition to have more than one option for campus housing was pulling nails, and this was something that impacted us directly! It felt like I was the only one who cared about anything, and trying to get other people to care and organized just got me branded as a nuisance. To this day I just accept that I’m going to speak out alone because no one will stand beside me. It’s lonely, but I can’t in good conscious stay quiet.

I know these movements come in waves. The 90s were a quiet decade to grow up in. I often feel like I was born at the wrong time. Now I have two small children and it is hard for me to join protests and be as active as I would like because of it. And it also feels like it’s never been more important to do so, because the changes I make now can benefit my kids in the future. Consequently, if we DON’T do something about gun violence, global warming, getting Trump out of the White House, etc, then my children are going to suffer greatly.

Yesterday I had a client in crisis, which as any mental health professional will say, is extremely emotionally draining. But the upcoming generation is doing something that people of my generation failed to do: give a damn. So I made a crappy poster even though I was exhausted last night. I put a lot of thought into the words but obviously, not the design. When I woke up I found my son had added his signature on the bottom, which is charming in it’s own way. He’s part of the reason I’m marching, so it was good to have his endorsement. It’s not the prettiest sign, but what matters is that I was there.

And so were thousands of others. Crowd estimates were between 7,000-8,000. There was one counterprotestor, spewing bile on a megaphone he did not have a permit for. While one of the students who organized the march (Lillian Scott) read the names of the Parkland students who were murdered and observed a moment of silence, he kept talking. When Lillian Scott started speaking, she raised her voice to drown him out, and we clapped. He was another example of right wing hypocrisy that will hopefully soon go extinct. The people leading the march are the future.

I used to be proud and excited to be class of 2000. We were supposed to lead the way and usher in an astounding new millennium. We haven’t. Right now I would have traded the empty prestige that came with being the class of 2000 to join a generation that is actually making a difference. I wish I were a part of this new and upcoming generation. Because when I read the multitude of scary headlines the plague our news, reading about them gives me hope that maybe, just maybe, there is light at the end of the tunnel.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s