Another birthday is rapidly approaching. It's a big one -- and I'm happy to have it. Last year I wrote about my fear of turning into a tomboy. This year, I proclaim that I'm also turning into a late-in-life protester.
Ed and I are traveling to Baltimore for my birthday weekend. Daughter Mary is coming down from NYC by train. We are celebrating Friday night with some friends at my all-time favorite restaurant: Woodberry Kitchen. Then on Saturday morning, the three of us are taking the train to Washington D.C. to join with hundreds of thousands of other outraged Americans to peacefully protest for social justice and equal rights for all.
Those of you who know me know that I don't like to rock the boat. For 60 years, I've shied away from confrontation. I like everyone to be nice. Usually, when someone is behaving badly, I bite my tongue and look away. Or, if it is me that they are not being nice to, I get my feelings hurt and pout. But on rare occasions, my red-headed fiery temper flares and then you better watch out. Just ask my kids or husband.
Most times when my temper shows itself, it is because I believe that the rude person is not being kind, or respectful, fair, or inclusive. In other words, they deserve it.
Dr. Martin Luther King, perhaps our country's most famous protester, once said, "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." So, as I turn 60, I've taken stock of what really matters to me; and I will no longer be silent.
If you are not kind, you will hear me roar. If you are not respectful or fair, cover your ears. And, God forbid, if you are not inclusive, watch out. This tomboy is now officially a protester. Hear me roar!
|Tomboy turned protester.|