Ten Things I’m Grateful for After a Broken Month

A month ago this minute, a nice ordinary day turned into a nightmare when I got hit by a car in the crosswalk. It’s been a hard hard month, but if I didn’t have such a lucky life, it would have been a lot harder.

1.     I’m grateful that I have family and friends to take care of me when I need it, particularly my best friend/ex-wife without whom I’m be sniveling and starving under a pile of dirty dishes.

2.      I’m grateful that I work in a neighborhood where people stop to help if they see you get hurt. I’m particularly grateful to the two Muslim men who called 911 and stayed with me until friends came, but also the friend-of-a-friend who went to get me water and ice, for my work friends who stayed with me until the ambulance came, and for the driver who stopped after he hit me.

3.      I’m grateful that I live in a beautiful neighborhood full of flowers and lightning bugs, where there are yard sales and art sales and neighbors who surprise me with chocolate bars and lavender poundcake, where I can sit outside reading or writing every morning until it gets too hot.

4.      I’m grateful for Orange Is the New Black giving me a chance to scream-sob about all of the things.

5.      I’m grateful for my rewatch of The West Wing and I’m grateful that my outlook is more The West Wing than House of Cards so that I could take to heart the shows of support from Democratic leaders (particularly John Lewis) in the horrible wake of Orlando.

6.      OH MY GOD I am grateful for Obamacare, without which a physical nightmare would have been (more of) a financial one as well.

7.      I’m grateful for my very loving cats. Sally always sits next to me and Frannie always sleeps by my face, assuring me I’m loved and safe.

8.      I’m grateful for my #365RainbowDays and for the fact that I’m well-versed in positive psychology, because I’ll need a lot of intentional joy to circumvent the depression and fear vying for attention in my brain.

9.      I’m grateful to the LGBTQ+ community both here and online—thank you for caring so much, fighting so hard, and being so beautiful.

10.  I’m grateful that I didn’t miss a day of tutoring yet, and that my other two jobs are as friendly and flexible as can be. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to lift textbooks again, but I’ll be so excited when that day comes.

What the Pulse Vigil Meant to Me

The weekend was awful even before the horrible news. I’d had surgery on my broken arm the Friday before and the pain, nausea, and trapped feeling went right along with the national mood. I was supposed to be marching with the library in the Philly Pride parade that day, but instead, I stayed in with my ex-wife/best friend, Rear Windowing the internet and intermittently crying.

By the day of Philly’s vigil, I was grateful to be unwoozy enough to attend. I considered it a personal victory that I didn’t cry in the candle section at the co-op. I was tired and scared, but I knew that when I got there, another kind of strength would carry me through.

The last time I went down to City Hall was the day I met Hillary Clinton on the eve of her Pennsylvania win, but the vigil was even more urgent and powerful. What struck me first was how on-message the crowd was, signs raised for LGBT rights alongside signs for gun control and against Islamophobia.

Philadelphia is often a segregated city, but at this vigil, as at the Hillary rally, I saw a spectrum of humanity, unified for love, peace, and progress.

After the reading of the names, after the speeches that I couldn’t quite hear and the singing that I could, (I’ve had several sleepless nights with “We Are a Gentle, Angry People” stuck in my head.) we marched around City Hall, silent and solemn, unbreakable. 

Tourists watched with curiosity and rainbowy people cheered from the sidewalks. As we rounded the corner near Broad Street, I saw a little girl with curly blond hair and a PRIDE T-shirt standing at a crosswalk with her fist raised. I raised my fist in return and felt lucky, lucky, lucky to share a world with her. A tall, exuberant transwoman in black lace and stilettos tried to start a “Hillary! Hillary!” chant, but the magic silence soon prevailed.

After the march, there were the candles.

One bank of candles felt the most sacred. The air was almost dewy with prayer and I felt at peace in a way that I hadn’t for months.

There was a singalong in the street. I joined in on “Let It Be” and “Lean on Me” and “This Little Light of Mine.” We all had fun realizing we didn’t know the words to “Born This Way.”

My arm was hurting and I was feeling pretty faint, but it took Amy and me a long time to leave.

The week that followed would be full of sadness and anger, but at the vigil, I got flowers and a hug.

That night, my life and the lives of forty-nine hate crime victims counted for something, and I resolved to do my best to keep the love and belonging of that night with me, by working to stop gun violence, by strengthening my ties to my GLBTQ+ community, and by getting back to campaign work as soon as I can. I want to honor those lives by spending mine wisely, on love.

The Day I Shook Bill Clinton's Hand

“We can’t hide from any of these hard truths about race and justice in America. We have to name them, and own them, and then change them.”

Hillary Clinton, June 20, 2015

Although as someone who remembers the Nineties well, I know enough to blame the Republican Senate for many of the letdowns of Bill Clinton’s presidency, I did have to cross some picket lines in my mind to get excited about going to see him speak. However, as both he and Hillary have done so much to support the poor, to fight for women’s rights, and to bring GLBT rights into the national conversation, I was jumping-up-and-down happy to show up first thing in the morning as one of the volunteers for the April 7^th event.

I phone-banked for President Obama, but this was my first time volunteering in support of a big event. When I got there and saw the other volunteers, I almost wept for joy. My facebook feed had made me feel like quite the lonely feminist, but here was a beautiful, diverse, welcoming team of mostly African American people from around the city and from the campaign itself. One volunteer was wearing a shirt that said, in rainbow letters, “Women’s Rights Are Human Rights,” and I knew I’d found my people.

My team was given clipboards so we could have people fill out their tickets to get inside. Two hours before they were to open the doors, I was sent around back of the building to help direct anybody who was lost. My directing partner was an African American gentleman who’d just retired. He told me that he and his wife love trading off the remote these days, but today he had to get out and do something. We groused about the rain together. He spoke passionately about how relieved he’ll be when President Obama is out of office, because he isn’t treated with the respect that a President deserves. We agreed that Hillary Clinton would have to go through similar assaults on her dignity, that it would be hard.

He and I were stationed near a friendly Secret Service agent who kept us updated on the weather. As it blustered and rained, we signed happy people in. One lady was wearing her T-shirt from the first Clinton presidency, the first time I voted, when I was eighteen.

After we were done helping people in, I said goodbye to my partner and switched clipboards so I could help sign people up to phone bank and canvass. The crowd inside the event was BEAUTIFUL, smiling, dancing here and there to Bill Withers’s Lovely Day. I signed up people of all ages and demographics, some of whom were inspired by Hillary’s platform to sign up for a campaign for the first time ever. I loved helping them find hours in their days and fill out their forms, letting them know that they could even phone bank from home. Men, women, and children volunteered their time, their talent, their artistic and organizing skills, the few spare moments they have.

A classroom of children were up on the bleachers, looking around the room in wonder and chanting “HRC! HRC!” In the midst of this tense and often-segregated city, it was a pleasure to be united with my fellow citizens for a common cause. Well, almost united. Almost all of us.

We were a festive crowd, but serious. I didn’t see the appealing Phish-show merriment that Sanders rallies seem to have, but I think I’m okay with serious when it comes to electing a president.

I used up all of my extroversion and almost all of my clipboard sheets. My fondness for paperwork comes in handy once again.

When President Clinton took the stage, I was standing with a class of African American kids and their teachers, my heart overflowing with love. The crowd was rapt for the President’s speech, woohooing the loudest about teachers and about Planned Parenthood. I’ve heard Bill Clinton give a commencement address, so this wasn’t the most eloquent I’ve seen him, but he was hitting the points we’d come to hear.

When the protest signs went up, my heart dropped. I watched them there in the middle of the crowd, hoping that they would be safe. When that brave woman started to speak, what you can’t really tell from the news is that she was heard. Though I don’t agree with her choice to blame Hillary for the crime bill, I was absolutely dazzled by this young woman’s courage. To stand up in the middle of a crowd and disagree with one of the most powerful men in the world is an act of bravery that should be honored, whether I agree with her or not. And I do agree with her on her most important point, that Black Lives Matter.

Wanting Hillary to have a chance to continue the Clintons’ decades of social justice work kept me on Bill’s side, but it the going was tough. I had a therapist once tell me that I don’t have enough room in my life for moral ambiguity, and I would like to have emailed her this deeply complicated day.

I want to be careful about how I say this next part, and it may well come out wrong. As the protesters continued to make themselves heard, I knew the exact moment when Twitter would explode. When Bill said the thing that I knew would be the headline, I looked around me in horror, expecting to see the same in the faces around me, but I didn’t. Though I  cannot and would not presume to know what they were thinking, the African American people around me seemed to be nodding in emphatic agreement with the President. One of the young women from the elementary class next to me yelled at the protesters to “Shut up!” but I (my teacher brain making me think all kids are my business) told her to listen to the protesters too and that everything would be okay.

Noting the presence of the Secret Service in the crowd, the teachers soon led their students out. I’m glad they got to see this. I’m glad they got to see how powerful one voice can be, and I hope that they’re inspired to grow up just as passionate and vocal.

I felt overwhelmed with so many different emotions, but when the line formed and the President came to shake hands, I stuck mine out. He took it, and held on while he was talking to the person in front of me, for a long time, and it almost felt like I was holding him up. It was one of the most powerful moments of my life. I was connecting with everything I stood for and against, with power and struggle and humanity. With a new forgiveness in my heart, I almost looked into his eyes. He looked tired, sad, and haunted. I’ve only done a microscopic fraction of what he’s done, but I do know what it’s like to fuck up while working against racism, what it’s like to set out to do good and find oneself pinned down by a poison system. What if, like everyone, he’s doing the best he can?

In the end, though, it’s Hillary Clinton who is running for president, and I believe she’s the candidate with the drive, skill, and wherewithal to help us build a country where Black Lives Matter. Her racial justice platform touches on many issues that are deeply important to me as an educator, particularly her plans to take apart the school to prison pipeline, [1] and end the achievement gap.[2] She also aims to protect transgender women of color [3] and has the clearest plan for supporting LGBT rights overall. [4] For these reasons, I hope that voters will look past the headlines and choose the candidate most equipped to improve African American lives.

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[1] “In too many communities, student discipline is overly harsh, with too large an emphasis on suspension, expulsion, or even police involvement—disproportionately impacting students of color and those with the greatest economic, social, and academic needs. Hillary will work to dismantle the school-to-prison pipeline by providing $2 billion in support to schools to reform overly punitive disciplinary policies, calling on states to reform school disturbance laws, and encouraging states to use federal education funding to implement social and emotional support interventions.” (https://www.hillaryclinton.com/issues/racial-justice/)

[2] Every child—in every ZIP code—deserves the opportunity to live up to his or her potential. That begins with a world class education from birth through college. Hillary will double America’s investment in Early Head Start and ensure that every four year old in America has access to high quality preschool to begin closing the achievement gap. She will modernize and elevate the teaching profession to drive student achievement in our K-12 schools.” (https://www.hillaryclinton.com/issues/racial-justice/)

[3] “LGBT Americans, particularly transgender women of color, are disproportionately the targets of discrimination, harassment, and violence. As president, Hillary will fight for full LGBT equality. She will work to protect transgender individuals from violence by improving the reporting of hate crimes, investing in law enforcement training that promotes fair and impartial interactions with the LGBT community, and directing the government to collect better data regarding crime victims.” (https://www.hillaryclinton.com/issues/racial-justice/)

[4] “Today in America, nearly 65 percent of LGBT individuals report experiencing discrimination in their daily lives. LGBT youth are nearly twice as likely as their peers to be physically assaulted at school, and 74 percent of LGBT students say they’ve been verbally harassed for their sexual orientation. And a recent study found that nearly 50 percent of of LGBT elders experienced discrimination when applying for senior housing. Despite this discrimination, 31 states do not have fully inclusive LGBT non-discrimination laws. Hillary will work with Congress to pass the Equality Act, continue President Obama’s LGBT equality executive actions, and support efforts to clarify that sex discrimination includes discrimination on the basis of “gender identity” and “sexual orientation.” (https://www.hillaryclinton.com/issues/lgbt-equality/)

Why I’m so Excited About Hillary Clinton

No politician is ever going to be progressive enough for me. I trust art, culture, and plain old human connection to take us toward justice in ways that politics can’t, but as anyone who has been anywhere near me lately knows, I’m fired up all the way to my bones about this election.  Here’s why:

1.      I’ve been geeking out on women’s history lately, and I’ve come to understand how recently it was that we came to have any power over our lives at all. For most of human history, our fates have been dictated by men, whether by force or by social norms. In fact, only a privileged few of us have autonomy now. As much as I do love men, I am tired of them deciding most of the things. This is a powerful chance to turn the tide.

2.      I want my nieces and nephews to come of age in a society that values women’s (and therefore everyone’s) health and allows them to choose when, how and if they decided to have families. Those rights and values are under attack, and I need somebody fierce defending them.

3.      I also want my nieces and nephews and the kids I take care of on a daily basis to grow up in a time that preserves the GLBTQ+ progress that we’ve made so far and continues to dismantle traditional narrow gender roles. I am very, very lucky to have had the support, acceptance, and choices I’ve been blessed with, but not everyone is that lucky, and those that aren’t need your support and protection so that more people can feel free to walk around being themselves.

4.      The first vote I cast was for the first Clinton presidency, and though he did make unforgivable choices, it was a time of happiness, prosperity, and progress. Even though some of their efforts got bogged down in messes like “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” the groundwork was laid for a lot of the progress we’ve seen in the last eight years.

5.      I’ve been reading Hillary’s memoir Hard Choices and learning the details of what a Secretary of State actually does. Though I may disagree with some of her choices, (and I’m not usually great with moral ambiguity) the complexities, challenges, and prejudice that she has faced down and overcome make her an absolute hero to me.

6.      Every time I post about Hillary or about politics at all, I get a pang of shame, a socially ingrained message that as a woman, I don’t have a right to weigh in, that I’m not entitled to a say in the matter. That’s because, for all of the strides we’ve made, women are still not considered to be entire people, still taught to feel bad for asserting ourselves, for speaking up. If I’m still fighting that shame, then surely less brazen women must be as well. We need visibility and we need a voice, the ultimate voice, to speak up for us and with us.

7.      Donald Trump’s success proves what many of us have been saying for as long as I can remember: Misogyny is powerful. It appeals to the basest instincts of the men and women who have been cowed and trained by rape culture to pile on, name-call, gaslight and discredit anyone who dares to speak up against it. Though it’s only a tiny fraction of what Hillary has endured, I’ve confronted the depths of sexism in both my personal and professional adventures, and I am just done accepting it. This is a good place to take a stand, and I’ll do as much work as I can to make sure that stand brings me to the National Mall for Inauguration Day. 

Thanks 2015! "Countless Small Acts of Courage"

The most incredible thing happened at my mom's Christmas party last weekend, something that was worth a million rainbows. My fourteen-year-year-old niece, AKA the coolest person in the universe, and her BFF (my also-quite amazing bonus niece) were regaling us at top volume about the byzantine love lives of themselves and their friends, stories that included all kinds of straight, gay, bi, and trans characters. It made my heart just shine with joy. Though there's still such a very long way to go toward gender equality, the world has expanded and gotten so much more glittery since I was these girls' age.

I'm so proud of the nieces for their ingrained inclusiveness, so I wanted to stop and appreciate all of the little things that got us to that conversation and to that rainbowiest of days last June.  Not the political things, though those are surely important, but all of the many little moments of connection, of engagement, of expression that helped us to make more room for love one honest interaction at a time.  And I'm so proud of all of us who went ahead and got married anyway (even if I personally failed at it) and of the families who created and supported those weddings, especially my own.

I want to hold June 26, 2015 in my heart as a reminder that there is hope for all of the projects of progress, that every time we speak up, show our love, or work for change in the tiniest of ways, we're getting ourselves to that place where we can stop for a second and say, holy Christmas, things really did get better. The future belongs to my badass nieces and my sweet, thoughtful nephews, and for that reason, I'm wholly optimistic.

October Checkmarks, November Goals