In 1960, in a school playground in Northern England, boys were grabbing younger boys and demanding: “Nixon or Kennedy?” If you answered “Nixon” you got roughed up.
All the boys were answering “Kennedy” so I answered “Nixon.” I was nine.
My nephews are eight and nine. I wonder if last week’s election has inspired bullying in their school playground. I wonder how the girls feel about themselves.
The Internet is not a place to emote: our rants fall on deaf ears, and we deepen our divisions. I don’t care for slacktivism: nothing changes in the world when I click on Like.
My microblog (displayed to the right of this post) is simply a place to highlight something I actually did each day. It’s almost exclusively something for which I am grateful. This past week I have tried to find small meanings in my actions.
Last Tuesday, Election Day, I microposted about my walk into downtown Minneapolis (see the top of this post). I was on my way to assist in a classroom where recent immigrants and refugees learn ESL, English as a Second Language. I spend each Tuesday morning this way. On this morning we talked about how elections work in the USA.
On Wednesday, with election results known to the world, my micropost simply alluded to my way of working through my thoughts.
I had been at a medical appointment, and would soon be undergoing 40 daily sessions of radiation therapy at Methodist Hospital. This will cost tens of thousands of dollars, in addition to the tens of thousands of dollars spent so far this year on my healthcare. But I’m lucky, unlike tens of millions of Americans, I have health insurance.
I’ve learned something about myself: I can handle my cancer. The election, not my cancer, was in my thoughts as I walked and walked.
It was good to have lunch that day at a place that is inclusive.
I’ll let my remaining microposts for the past week speak for themselves.
Bravo! We can't change what happened last week (…yet). But we can direct our need to do *something* in so many constructive ways to arrive where we want and need to be.
Amen. Thank you for not being afraid.
I love your stories!
Thanks, Amy.