What's My Kid Got to Do With It?

So, I don't really want to brag. But these days, my calendar is pretty full with speaking engagements for The Emancipation Network. I mean, I'd go as far as to say that I'm in – gasp – high demand. And so what if that demand is based almost entirely in elementary schools? As in, preschool, kindergarten, first grade, and fourth grade at the Henry T Wing School in Sandwich, Massachusetts – that's right - my children's elementary school. But seriously, that's not all. There's that school (insert shout out to The Howard School!) where my mother teaches, in the small town where I grew up . And the classroom where my friend teaches across town. Those count, right? Alright fine, there are others. And they involve adults – even adults at universities and public libraries – you hear what I'm saying...smart, curious, intellectual adults. But I must admit, I kind of fancy these no pressure gigs to the next generation. And to my middle class, suburban Mommy friends (read lovingly), I know why your hand is up. Go ahead, ask. What's My Kid Got to do With It? That is: slavery, trafficking, gender equality, maternal health, global poverty and education. And I hope the answer is everything. But lucky for American public schools, the new me is into baby steps, so I'll be talking about global citizenship and our human oneness. I'll spare them the details of social justice and human rights for another decade or so. Or at least I'll try.

But this brings me to my point. What do our kids have to do with all of these world issues? What's too much and what's not enough? What's too heavy for their insulated, comfortable little minds to process? How do we actually explain starving children across the world over steak tips and mashed potatoes? And how do we get our kids to appreciate the gift of education when they're praying for a snow day? Is it realistic to ask a child to give up birthday presents to buy a flock of chickens for a family they don't know? One of the most common questions asked to me about my trip with TEN to India, is “What did you tell your children?” My answer: the truth. Though appropriately modified depending on age. The gist for my girls who are under 5: “Some children don't have Mommies, and they asked me to come and play. I will teach them all of the games we play together. They will love you for sharing your Mommy with them.” My boys, 7 and 10, they got the facts: “Boys and girls that are your age, are forced to do work and have sex for adults, without a choice, often away from their families. They don't get paid, don't go to school and it isn't safe or right. Some are rescued from that life, and they need extra love. Mommy will bring them as much love as possible. Because of you, I know how easy it is to love a child.”

Now I need you to know, that while I know my actions are setting an example, and I'm doing my best to raise humans with open hearts and open minds, it's not all sunshine and lollipops dragging fed, sheltered, educated kids into the throws of one's social causes. And I understand that there's a certain level of therapy in their future, because on more than one occasion, I've hollered at the top of my lungs, “I spent two weeks in a shelter, where one hundred girls shared one soccer ball, and NO ONE CRIED!” Yeah, I left out the part about suffering a lifetime of trauma that they've forgotten how to cry and the natural pecking order of being institutionalized, but I think they got it. And my dear friend and TEN founder Sarah Symons has rambled and rambled to her children about poverty and gratitude so much that her ten year old daughter now says “Stop, Mom! Pleeeeeease don't get 'Kolkata' on me today. I have friends over.” And it's probably true of all activist's children, that they sense at any given moment, their life could be flipped upside down in honor of the “greater good”. Believe me, I have questioned the size of my mortgage payment in comparison to the cost of educating a child on more than...one million occasions. And a family feels that. But feeling is good.

And while we, as adults, can decide to feel, to grow, to question, to talk about all things grand and small to our families, there is something we must say to our children. A message I live to convey. It looks like this: I hurry outside to check my mail one recent, winter afternoon, and I am stopped, frozen in my tracks. I watch as a crowd of children, many ages, many genders, bundled in hats and mittens, throw one tennis ball off of my roof and catch it. This happens again and again, over and over, where every minute of play is chaos and order all at once. They laugh, they shove, they cheer, they create, they are alive. I am taken, because right here, in suburban America, outside of my modest home, in this small corner of the planet, where almost every toy, video game, computer, cell phone, ipod, and piece of sporting equipment, is available and affordable to these children, I get to witness one of life's greatest gifts. That is children of the world, being children of the world. And I'm taken that I've never stopped to notice (I mean really notice) this oneness before. And it vibrates through the universe.  It screams out loud. It's so thrilling, you could squeal with delight. It's so subtle you could look away. It's so honest you could break down and cry. It's just so clear - these are the ways of the children of the world. These are the ways we are one – through our children and for our children.  It is our global birthright to have our basic needs met  - love, play, food, shelter, clothes, education, safety, health. I am overwhelmed at the simplicity of it and the surprised by the intensity. 

So here's where to start the conversation:  Tell your children what they instinctively know to be true, there is no “us and them”, our basic dreams, our wants, our hopes, our prayers are universally consistent. And sometimes, you must travel across the world to see it and sometimes you just need to travel out your front door. Your home is the world and the world is your home.  And that, my friends, is precisely what your kids have got to do with it.

Namaste,
Janell