Yesterday, as I was reading more about the governor of my state orchestrating the flights of migrants to Martha’s Vineyard, I was fighting the urge to make a ranty post on Facebook. I rarely post on Facebook anymore and my friends list is much smaller than it used to be, but there was a time I would share an article with a fiery comment without a second thought. It seems the years of using it as an outlet for anger and annoyance is a hard habit to break, and so I drafted my take and took a breath, the curser hovering over the post button.
On Mondays I leave work a few hours early and drive to a neighborhood not far from mine, passing through the downtown mix of white and brown cultures. I go by the park that hosts art shows and fiestas. The cocktail lounge and the grocery store with the tortilleria in the back. The botanical gardens parking lot full of the tourist rental cars and the gas station where the bicycles of all the day laborers are waiting for the company trucks to drop off their owners. I turn off the main street into an area that your realtor would probably tell you to avoid, and then park in front of the yellow metal building, go inside, and wait for the buses to arrive.
On the table in front of me is a folder for J. She is in Kindergarten and Monday through Thursday comes here after school to do homework. The room is full of voices with the occasional giggle or frustrated sigh. Heads are bent over books or looking up to their tutor for help. I ask J about her day and tell her I love the sparkly butterfly on her shirt. Then we go over her sight word list. I point to a word and say it and she repeats.
“The” “And” “To” “Is”
She stares intently at the words and repeats them slowly and smiles when she recognizes one and says it before I do.
“Of” “A” “In” “You”
I don’t know J’s story but I know there’s a chance someone in her family is undocumented, or that her parents might work two or three jobs and still not be able to pay the electric bill.
“Was” “On” “Has” “Is”
I know she might have been born in America but her mom might have had to make unimaginable sacrifices to get here.
“Not” “All” “We” “Are”
I know the Cheez-Its she just ate might be the only food she has until she goes back to school in the morning and that that she might not have a real bed to sleep it.
“At” “This” “From” “One”
I also know that she deserves the opportunities and freedoms that my children have and that her parents deserve the same sense of stability and comfort that my husband and I do. I know their family deserves to feel respected and welcomed, not pushed to the margins or treated like a burden.
“Be” “Have” “Or” “Had”
Instead of hitting Post, I click the X. I am under no illusions that I’ve ever changed anyone’s mind or world by sharing my opinion on Facebook. It certainly won’t change the mind or world of a power hungry politician. But maybe I can help change J’s world just a little bit. One sight word at a time.
Some words I wrote:
Some words I read:
Some things I bought:
These round velvet pillows that look like the ones my grandma and great-grandma had on their couches. My grandma also had a green velvet couch and that might be next on my list.
This charcoal peel mask that makes a tired face feel less tired.
Creative prompt:
What is something that makes you angry? What productive thing can you do with that anger?
Please share in the comments!
In the shop:
Until next month…peace and love,
Michelle