38. It’s a weird birthday, isn’t it? It says something about this birthday and year in general that I’m writing my birthday reflection post more than a week after it happened. In the past, I would have been on top of it, annoyed with myself if I didn’t have it ready the day of my birthday. But like so much this past year, my writing has been catch-is catch-can and that’s just how it’s going to be.
“I just want to raise my kids to be kind,” the Facebook comment read.
My eyebrow raised. This comment followed a back and forth between me and the commenter. That conversation was sparked by her complaining that she was sick of people trying to shame white people. That comment was in response to a thought-provoking post about racism that wasn’t shaming. Trying to provide an alternative perspective, I explained because of the unjust systems we live in that we all have some level of racism and we actively have to work to be anti-racist. She basically said that she was disgusted at me trying to create conflict and would raise her kids to be “color-blind.” And then she dropped that line on me about “raising her kids to be kind.”
Really? Really?!
“Let me take a picture of you in the last night of your old bed!” I urged my younger son. Instead, he threw the blanket over his head and giggled. I sighed and smiled. Sheesh. After some playing back and forth, I finally got my photo.
“I’m a hell hound! But a nice one,” my four year old says, referring to a Dungeons and Dragons monster who is literally supposed to be a dog from Hades.
This may seem like an odd exchange, but it’s perfectly normal in our household.
“We can listen to music or I can yell at you to stop. Which would you rather?” I said to my kids, exasperated. They were making a shit-ton of noise and I felt like my head was going to explode. Everything was just so damn loud. The music went on – we settled on Rusted Root – and everything settled down. Or at least settled down as much as my incredibly high-energy children will let it.
But this incident was a culmination of a lot of self-exploration.
“Why do they say that Africa is the most wild? Antarctica is the most wild!” my older son proclaimed as we listened to the narration of yet another Disney Nature documentary.
“But how does the story end?” my older son asked.
We had just finished reading We Are Water Protectors, a powerful picture book written from the perspective of an Anishinaabe girl. She talks about how her people regard water as life and how a “big black snake” threatens the water and therefore them. While the book never names what the “snake” is, the pictures clue the reader in – it’s an oil pipeline. Like many real-life young people like Autumn Peltier, the narrator is an Indigenous water protector committed to halting water from becoming polluted with death instead of life.