One unexpectedly warm Sunday afternoon, I strolled through the downtown area, hand in hand with my 4-year-old son. His curious mind was buzzing with questions, and I felt ready to answer them all.
“What’s that building? Can we go inside? What’s your favorite dinosaur? How do traffic lights work? Can we get ice cream?”
In moments like these, I cherish the time spent with my firstborn, especially since the arrival of his little sister has filled our lives with even more joy—and a bit of chaos. Quality time alone with him is now rare, making our outings even more special. On this particular day, I took a moment to notice the new freckles decorating his nose and how our conversations had evolved, even as he still cherished holding my hand and sprinkling in spontaneous “I love yous.”
Then, I noticed something unsettling: a poster hastily attached to the window of an empty storefront. It displayed two stern-looking, light-skinned figures with piercing blue eyes, accompanied by the words, “DEFEND YOUR PEOPLE.” The poster was advertising a white supremacist group and inviting people to get involved.
In that instant, I realized that the phrase “your people” excluded me. I was suddenly on the opposite side of a conflict I hadn’t chosen to enter. The message was not for my sweet boy, with his kind heart and cherubic smile, either. It implied that we were the adversaries.
Processing the ugliness of that message on such a beautiful day was difficult. I quickly yanked the poster down, leaving behind unsightly remnants of tape. I balled it up and tossed it into the nearest trash can, hoping it would be buried beneath fast-food wrappers and other refuse—exactly where it belonged.
“Why did you do that?!” my son exclaimed, puzzled by my actions.
“The poster wasn’t nice,” I replied, trying to steer the conversation back to dinosaurs and sunshine, away from the heavy topic of hate.
“But you’re not supposed to do that!” he protested.
At that moment, I faced the challenge of explaining how my seemingly wrong actions were, in fact, justified. How do I convey to my child that a little trouble can serve a greater purpose?
Fortunately, I recalled the words of Civil Rights leader and former Congressman John Lewis, who often discussed the idea of “good trouble.” Lewis famously led a sit-in to advocate for gun control, praising those who dared to get into trouble for a just cause.
Using this concept, I explained to my son the complexities of rules and morality. If a law is unjust, it’s not just acceptable to break it; it’s often the right thing to do. Sometimes, you must get into a bit of trouble for the sake of a greater good, much like how Representative Lewis has a collection of mugshots alongside his legacy of civil rights victories.
I hadn’t expected to delve into the topic of civil disobedience on our walk, fearing it might confuse him. But my son seemed to grasp that the poster didn’t belong on display and needed to be thrown away.
“But Mom, what if they come back and put up another poster?” he asked, his brows furrowing with concern.
“I’ll take that one down,” I assured him.
“And if they do it again?”
“I’ll take that down too.”
“And again?”
“And again.”
This experience reminded me of the importance of fostering a sense of justice in our children, teaching them that standing up against hate and injustice is not only necessary but commendable. If you’re interested in learning more about the significance of civil rights and home insemination, check out this insightful blog post. For those considering at-home options, Make A Mom offers reputable kits to assist in the process, while News Medical serves as an excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, teaching our children about standing up for what is right—getting into “good trouble”—is vital for fostering a more just society. It’s essential to instill values of compassion and justice in our kids, enabling them to navigate the complexities of the world they inhabit.