Nothing like having your 16 year old unleash her Unholy Scream of Joy right in your face because you downloaded the Yuri on Ice theme song for her iPod. I guess it’s the little things that count. It was like…less than a buck :p
Following the election of Trump, Molly Spence Sahebjami was trying to process how to talk to her five-year-old son about Trump, a bully whose ideals and words have been, in the nicest of terms, “mean.” But instead of just speaking to her child, she wanted parents and children to feel empowered to make a change.
Sahebjami came up with a Facebook group, “Dear President Trump: Letters from Kids About Kindness” and invited her friends who were parents with kids. The group would then invite parents to have their kids write positive, non-partisan letters to the president-elect about being kind to others.
Within days, thousands had joined the group and posted photos of their children’s letters to the group and tagging the letters with the hashtag #KidsLetterstoTrump.
Sahebjami told HuffPost that young kids “may have varying levels of knowledge about the key issues in the election, but there is one thing they know for sure, Trump said some really unkind things about certain groups of people.”
She added, “It’s a patriotic thing, and such an American thing, for kids to write letters to their president, expressing their hopes for the nation. These are our future voters.”
These notes and cards range from simple messages to longer essays and were written by kids between the age of 4 and 18.
“It would be great if we can catch the attention of Donald Trump,” Sahebjami said. “He’s a father and a grandfather, and he’s human.”
I was picking up YoungerTwin from after school care when I overheard a 5th grader telling teasing him, “Yo momma is so, oh wait, never mind, you don’t have a momma.”
Now, I could have said what I really wanted to say which was, “You are an ignorant little sh*t stain on the fabric of human existence,” but he is after all a child and I am an adult which means I should set the example.
So, instead, I gave him my “I will eat yo’ baby” dingo smile and said, “Regina George, I presume.”
He didn’t get it, of course, but I felt better and I could tell that he gleaned from my “I will eat yo’ baby” dingo smile that I was not pleased and he’d best leave my kid alone.
I should be cleaning my house (it’s currently Awful), finding a birthday present for my mom (her birthday is tomorrow and I invited her over but haven’t picked out a gift), or grading papers (finals week is a week away).
Instead I’m gonna drink a beer, eat pizza with my kid and show her the movie version of Les Mis because she currently has a HARD crush on Eddie Redmayne (thanks, Fantastic Beasts). Parenting for the win.
ALSO, AND VERY IMPORTANT: That moment when you have to assure your kid that you won’t be upset with them if they’re straight.
As I’ve mentioned before, I was raised in a strict Christian household. It was full of love, but it was also a house that didn’t like Ellen DeGeneres or Rosie O'Donnell simply because they were gay. A house that would turn off the tv when the lesbian episodes of Friends were on (while I ran to the tv in my room and pressed “mute” to see it). One that would roll their eyes at the idea of gay marriage. Parents that meant well and just went by what they were taught, wanting us to grow up with something to believe. I remember sobbing in high school, thinking they would absolutely kill me. Things slowly started changing when I was 16+.
My Mom was the one who asked if I was gay. She was my biggest supporter, my secret keeper, and the one I told everything to. My Dad? He went from not wanting me to come out, to protect me, to telling everyone he knows if they ask if I’m “dating any new guys” - because that’s simply who I am. In his words “why hide it? Who cares?”. My Mom came to me about Carol on her own, wanting to watch it to see the love story. When gay marriage was legalized, I called my Mom sobbing. She was sobbing with me, after yelling “YES! THANK GOD” in front of all of her friends.
After being raised to hate who I was, not even allowing it to be an option - to now, my Mother texting me just now saying “Do you have any more Human Rights Campaign stickers like you have on your car? I want one on mine”
Change is a beautiful thing. Believe in it and believe in people.
Nearly every year, for the past thirty years, Frances Goldin has gone to New York City Pride holding a sign that reads, “I adore my lesbian daughters. Keep them safe.” (x)
“Since the beginning of the parade, I’ve been going and waving my sign,” Goldin said. “It sort of hit a nerve with people, particularly those whose parents rejected them. The response to the sign is always so great — it urges me to keep going.”
“Everybody would come running up to her and cry, kiss her, and say, ‘Would you call my mother?’ or ‘Would you be my mother?’” her daughter, Sally, explained.
“She’d take down names and addresses and write letters to these kids’ mothers!”
When asked about all the young LGBT parade-goers who have begged her to speak to their own mothers, Goldin replied, “I think I changed a few people’s minds and I’m glad about that. Everyone should support their gay and lesbian children, they’re missing a lot in life if they don’t.”