Or maybe it was a rap song. I deleted it, because of Lent. I can't even explain that, as I don't believe in anything even remotely resembling a religion or higher being.
It was filled with anger. Anger pointed at those who look like me. Those who grew up in similar places as I. Those who once shared the same socioeconomic privilege I did. My anger isn't over my situation, but the privilege of others. The blindness that has affected us all. I see more praise for Kobe as a hero than Greta and Malala. I see praise for Trump as a family man, but critique of the single mom whose two jobs aren't enough. I see it daily. I see parents who don't know how their children treat women, unaware that their posts support their position. I see teachers who can't read, write, or maybe just edit. I see fathers so proud of their son's two goals, but ignoring that they'll grow up coveting scores. I'm 49, mocked for my choices, of protecting animals, reading books, and putting others before me. Mocked by those whose privilege has put them where they are, while they claim hard work, ignoring their lives as recipients. I wish I could protect so many of the children I see. Five and six is too young to be filled with such anger. The best they can, claim their parents, who drive the nicest cars, wear the best labels, and travel to exotic locales, but don't know how their child's day was. I get asked questions by some about who their children are; you laugh, but they're brighter than you. We've lost the ability to hold ourselves accountable and we've not created a generation of those who feel they're entitled, we've created a built-in excuse for failure and our privilege is ignored when we succeed. Blindness to our own selves has created two of each of us, sometimes more, but when it all comes to an end, we'll be alone, staring in the mirror. Will we recognize who we are? I sure as hell know our children (and probably theirs) won't, not because they're lazy, entitled, pampered, NO, because the safe-spaces we condemn aren't in college classrooms or online newsfeeds, but in the very homes they come from. Homes that cater to their fears, support their hate, feed their rage and this false sense of being disenfranchised. Homes that rationalize their lack of accountability, sensibility, and manners. Homes that still teach them that they can have whatever they want, they just have to take it.
So why is it, when I see a photograph of two young, powerful, brilliant, and truly altruistic women, who have endured more than any of the children and parents I know personally, why is it, that I feel such warmth and love in my heart, which slowly fades, like an emotional eclipse? Why do I know that many, maybe even most I know, see that same photo and are instantly filled with envy, confusion, and rage? They have not been on TV. They cannot dribble between their legs. They have no known wealth. They have no penis. They are not American. Only one is "white." Why should they be championed but not my boy? For every unwarranted reason, you think he should. That's why.
It was filled with anger. Anger pointed at those who look like me. Those who grew up in similar places as I. Those who once shared the same socioeconomic privilege I did. My anger isn't over my situation, but the privilege of others. The blindness that has affected us all. I see more praise for Kobe as a hero than Greta and Malala. I see praise for Trump as a family man, but critique of the single mom whose two jobs aren't enough. I see it daily. I see parents who don't know how their children treat women, unaware that their posts support their position. I see teachers who can't read, write, or maybe just edit. I see fathers so proud of their son's two goals, but ignoring that they'll grow up coveting scores. I'm 49, mocked for my choices, of protecting animals, reading books, and putting others before me. Mocked by those whose privilege has put them where they are, while they claim hard work, ignoring their lives as recipients. I wish I could protect so many of the children I see. Five and six is too young to be filled with such anger. The best they can, claim their parents, who drive the nicest cars, wear the best labels, and travel to exotic locales, but don't know how their child's day was. I get asked questions by some about who their children are; you laugh, but they're brighter than you. We've lost the ability to hold ourselves accountable and we've not created a generation of those who feel they're entitled, we've created a built-in excuse for failure and our privilege is ignored when we succeed. Blindness to our own selves has created two of each of us, sometimes more, but when it all comes to an end, we'll be alone, staring in the mirror. Will we recognize who we are? I sure as hell know our children (and probably theirs) won't, not because they're lazy, entitled, pampered, NO, because the safe-spaces we condemn aren't in college classrooms or online newsfeeds, but in the very homes they come from. Homes that cater to their fears, support their hate, feed their rage and this false sense of being disenfranchised. Homes that rationalize their lack of accountability, sensibility, and manners. Homes that still teach them that they can have whatever they want, they just have to take it.
So why is it, when I see a photograph of two young, powerful, brilliant, and truly altruistic women, who have endured more than any of the children and parents I know personally, why is it, that I feel such warmth and love in my heart, which slowly fades, like an emotional eclipse? Why do I know that many, maybe even most I know, see that same photo and are instantly filled with envy, confusion, and rage? They have not been on TV. They cannot dribble between their legs. They have no known wealth. They have no penis. They are not American. Only one is "white." Why should they be championed but not my boy? For every unwarranted reason, you think he should. That's why.
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