So I haven't posted much, despite us still being pretty active, because I was struggling with how to justify bringing my kid(s) to protest(s).
Not to myself, because it's just what I have to do if I'm going to participate and boy howdy I must participate.
Maybe not to you, the person who reads my posts because we went to high school together and you love me.
But to you, the person who is shocked-- Shocked, I tell you-- that I am bringing my child(ren) into a Dangerous Situation. You, the person who plans to blame me (and is judging me in advance) if someone else hurts me or my child as a direct (or even indirect) consequence of my bringing my kid(s) to protest(s).
Dear You,
Everyone has different parenting styles, so if what I'm about to share doesn't make sense to you, then we'll have to assume that nothing else I say will make sense and please don't bother to comment, just move along to the next blog.
If you have kids, or ever were a kid, or have seen kids play, I hope you have experienced a mudpie. It might not be just mud-- there might be grass involved, or dandelions (or, in my own personal experience, it was mud soup in a bucket and along with the dirt and the grass there was one slice of American cheese broken up into tiny pieces... for flavor. The neighbor kids got much cooler food than my organic family. *yearn*)... but there was play. And sometimes there was a bite taken out of the pie (or a straw inserted into the bucket of soup...)... and it didn't kill us.
It became a story to tell, an experience to ruminate upon, a moment playing together in the sunshine that taught us important things about the power of cheese. (Like, it can't make mud and grass soup taste good.)
Kids need danger. Not guns in their faces and bombs in their backyards kinds of danger. But they need mudpie danger.
They need to learn to recognize it and how to protect themselves from it or they will go into the world and they will buy half the shares in the first mudpie factory they see. They will learn to fear dirt, grass, and cheese rather than the people who tell them mudpies are yummy.
They will believe the dangerous, pretty lies if they don't also see the people holding up big cardboard signs with the delicious truth on them.
I'm their mother, and it's my responsibility to make sure the mudpies they experience aren't laced with arsenic or toxic debt.
But I have to give them a taste of danger, or they will choke on it when I'm not there.
Thanks for reading, and I hope that helps you understand the decisions I make and the experiences I'm giving my kid(s).
Sincerely,
alia
Not to myself, because it's just what I have to do if I'm going to participate and boy howdy I must participate.
Maybe not to you, the person who reads my posts because we went to high school together and you love me.
But to you, the person who is shocked-- Shocked, I tell you-- that I am bringing my child(ren) into a Dangerous Situation. You, the person who plans to blame me (and is judging me in advance) if someone else hurts me or my child as a direct (or even indirect) consequence of my bringing my kid(s) to protest(s).
Dear You,
Everyone has different parenting styles, so if what I'm about to share doesn't make sense to you, then we'll have to assume that nothing else I say will make sense and please don't bother to comment, just move along to the next blog.
If you have kids, or ever were a kid, or have seen kids play, I hope you have experienced a mudpie. It might not be just mud-- there might be grass involved, or dandelions (or, in my own personal experience, it was mud soup in a bucket and along with the dirt and the grass there was one slice of American cheese broken up into tiny pieces... for flavor. The neighbor kids got much cooler food than my organic family. *yearn*)... but there was play. And sometimes there was a bite taken out of the pie (or a straw inserted into the bucket of soup...)... and it didn't kill us.
It became a story to tell, an experience to ruminate upon, a moment playing together in the sunshine that taught us important things about the power of cheese. (Like, it can't make mud and grass soup taste good.)
Kids need danger. Not guns in their faces and bombs in their backyards kinds of danger. But they need mudpie danger.
They need to learn to recognize it and how to protect themselves from it or they will go into the world and they will buy half the shares in the first mudpie factory they see. They will learn to fear dirt, grass, and cheese rather than the people who tell them mudpies are yummy.
They will believe the dangerous, pretty lies if they don't also see the people holding up big cardboard signs with the delicious truth on them.
I'm their mother, and it's my responsibility to make sure the mudpies they experience aren't laced with arsenic or toxic debt.
But I have to give them a taste of danger, or they will choke on it when I'm not there.
Thanks for reading, and I hope that helps you understand the decisions I make and the experiences I'm giving my kid(s).
Sincerely,
alia
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