I’ve written before that I won’t get very political on this blog, and this particular post is no exception. Yet I was reminded (in the wise article, “How Do Christians Fit Into the Two-Party System? They Don’t”) that “Those who avoid all political discussions and engagement are essentially casting a vote for the social status quo.”
Which is why this mother of two teen boys and a preteen girl, without stating any opinion on the turmoil of the U.S.’ Kavanaugh proceedings, wants to ponder aloud one particular sentiment.
“Boys will be boys” is a bunch of hooey.
Am I the only one who admits to slyly checking NBC.com to know when This is Us would restart after the summer? I keep waiting for an episode that won’t bring tears to my eyes, dagnabbit. Completely, 100% sucked in.
I remember watching the pageant on my stomach on the carpet: One of my favorite television events of the year. There was the talent portion, the interview, the evening gown. Your ideal, they sang. And sure enough–girls around the nation wondered just like I did: Could I ever do that?
In the car last week, my kids and I were discussing the American Civil War–and whether they thought it was initially about slavery or about the states’ rights. Maybe you’re like me in these discussions, or in reading books about abolitionists: Maybe you wonder whether you would have had what it takes to do what was illegal and could put your family in jeopardy in order to free slaves.
You guys know I’m not big into getting political. Promise I’ll try hard not to go all soapbox-y on you. Yet I gotta admit: I was pretty hot under the collar last week over some rumored comments regarding African nations like the beautiful one I raised my kids in. In my gratitude for this place, with its remarkable people and so much to offer the world–people who’ve changed my life–I was more than a wee bit appalled.
We were headed to church, exhaling clouds of steam in the still-cold car. Up in the front seat, I happily remarked to my husband about the expanding diversity in our small town–as judged authoritatively, of course, by my trips to Wal-Mart. After five and a half years in Africa, I can feel a little stifled amongst all the vanilla around me.
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