As a youngster I used to spend a lot of time by myself, lost in my own imagination, in a land far off and only known to me. As I emerged from childhood to adulthood it became harder and harder for me to find this land. It became smaller just at first then translucent. Now all that remains is a memory. In a sense it seems that I let the best part of me fade away as the harsh world pulled me farther and farther from it.
I hold tight little capsules of this time and place. And lately I have been trying to find as many as I can amoungst the clutter in my mind with hopes to pull them together and reclaim my land of pleasant imagination. I most importantly want to find this happy place so that I can share it in full with the children that I hope to one day call my own. I want to pass down to them a strong sense of wonder, curiosity, an eagerness to see and to learn, to taste and to explore. I want to pass on compassion and loyalty, faith, and strength of spirit. I want to instill values of understanding and solidarity to those in need. I will encourage hard work, patience, persistence and good will. I will with the utmost care show love, teach love, talk love, always.
These are values that I hold true to my own beating heart. Everything these days has me thinking about my future and the children that will one day be present in it, making it all the more full. I look forward to this time with great excitement. With this excitement however, comes sudden waves of fear.
I am a person of color. I am a woman. I am queer. I laugh more than I cry, but the tears flow when I hear that I, for simply being true to my own character, am hated. I am hated by people I do not know. I will never know. But they hate me. And they will hate my children too. I cry for them. For thinking that I am brainwashing their children by being true to myself. I cry for them as I walk hand in hand with the ghosts of lives lost, on our side, and theirs.
We are one people. Scattered.
Our children are what binds us.