The Women’s March: What Do You Say To The Kids?
I wrote this article over a year ago but did not publish it. I chickened out. Perhaps I was just so grossed out that I could not believe what my eyes were seeing and I hoped those images would go away. But they stuck in my mind. And now, with the growing craziness, such as having drag queens tell children stories in public libraries and other such venues, having children raised without anyone knowing if they are male or female, having men use women’s bathrooms and change rooms if they just say they really feel like women, teaching young children about gender fluidity and telling them they have a choice in whether they identify as male or female, etc. . . . I felt it was time to click on the publish button. So here is what I wrote back then:
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I was just wondering if there were there children at the women’s march.
I mean: were there kids around where people were marching with signs that cannot help but inspire the innocent I-want-to-know-what-that-is questions that we-are-not-sure-we-know-how-to-answer?
I ask because, as I was concentrating on some serious editing I am doing for a colleague, a picture suddenly and totally unbidden came into my head — it was of me at that march with my almost-4-year-old granddaughter.
Her favourite question at this point of her development is “why?” Remember that stage? No matter what you answer, the next question is always “why?” and that forces you to delve deeper and deeper into your psyche and figure out just why we really said something, or why that building is painted blue or why you will not let her do something she wants to do.
Yes, . . . but WHY?
On and on until you wonder if you ever knew anything in your life or if 1+1 really does =2, or if life can ever make sense again, and you realize that our greatest minds never outgrew that stage and you wonder if you should be relieved or saddened that you will never be one of the world’s greatest thinkers.
And then I thought, just how would I answer her questions about why people were walking around with giant pink vulvas around their necks.
And I wonder what I would tell her they are — just so I wouldn’t have to tell her what they really are. And I wonder how she would understand the obvious disconnect between my body language and the simple answer I was trying to offer her: Oh, those? Aren’t they interesting scarves? Yeh! Right!
After the Women’s March, where are things headed?