WE ARE NOT A GARBAGE CAN

Hello! I think most of my middle and upper grade readers get their news from screens ranging from palm-sized to large size. Maybe some read the papers but I’m pretty sure they are not checking my blog. Still I write and this particular entry is written for them. It may seem silly to write a blog no one may even read, but it’s something I do — like waves at the ocean or the sun rising — doing what I do even when the tourists go home and the beach house is locked. I once saw a solitary rose bloom behind the shed.

Anyway, it’s November and a Presidential election year. When I was growing up, and even later when I was teaching, schools sometimes had mock elections. Most kids followed their family’s lead and voted the way the adults in the their lives voted. These days there’s so much division in our country that I’m not sure these mock elections even take place. Sadly, it’s sometimes dangerous to speak our minds.

When I was a kid, I myself was apolitical, more interested in poetry than politics though my parents always voted and of course, I knew the basics. It’s harder now for kids to bury themselves in books and ignore the outside world. All day long they’re bombarded with information from those small and large screens. I hope each of my readers, particularly the young ones, find time to step outside, to wonder at nature and listen to her many voices.

Every generation has its struggles but as the Vietnam War raged through my childhood, I never once doubted that both the flower children and the hawks loved our country. We were imperfect and overt signs of patriotism went underground, but everyone I knew embraced democracy. I still cry when I hear the lines …the rockets red blare, the bombs bursting in air gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. With all our differences, we were still the land of the free and the home of brave.

Or course, the older I grew, the more I discovered about the ugly underside of our American tapestry. Our treatment of Native Americans. Slavery. Racism. I believed that no matter where our grandparents came from, we who were here belonged here. America is more than a geographical place. America is an ideal, a belief in the dignity of each one of us. American history is stained with the blood of our mistakes, but our history is not a completed narrative. Each immigrant who steps on our shores enters and enriches the ongoing American story.

But I’m losing the thread of what I want to say. I want my readers to know that the United States is not a garbage can. Young readers growing up in this country deserve a leader who knows that. We make mistakes but we are a country whose roots dig deep into the soil of hope. We are a country who dares to believe in something better than the grave mistakes we’ve made.

I truly believe we had been finding our way, we had been working toward to a more just and equitable nation where people have the freedom to follow their hearts, to love whom they want to love and make difficult choices based on what is best for them and their family. Maybe that scares some people, but it shouldn’t. Celebrating our differences only enriches the possibilities and possibilities is what makes the United States a great nation.

I may not reach my intended audience by writing a blog but I’m hoping a teacher or trusted adult will happen upon it and share my thoughts with a middle or high schooler in their life. All I really want to do is offer a trickle of hope that might help douse the flames of hatred that swirls around us.

All I want to do is remind my readers that the United States is not a garbage can but a garden. We’ve got some weeding to do, but when we work together, we cultivate the most beautiful flowers.