Day 1 - Sunday, 1/29
It started last Saturday night. The Muslim ban. Or whatever you want to call it. Unless your head has been completely buried in the sand (in which case, I wouldn't completely blame you), you know about it. And if you agree with it, then you can stop reading. Because I am not going to attempt to change your mind, and honestly, if that's where you're at, you probably shouldn't be reading my blog. We probably wouldn't be friends in real life.
Five year olds in handcuffs? Green card holders stuck overseas? Mothers separated from their nursing infants? And an American immigration policy based completely on prejudice?
There really should be no debate here.
In any event, I was a tad distraught over this. Freaked out. Twilight zone kind of stuff. When I woke up on Sunday morning, I wanted to do something. So I went to the second march of my life (the first one being one week prior), organized on a day's notice in direct response to the Muslim Ban. And this time, I brought the whole family.
I didn't bring my family to the women's march, and I'm glad I didn't. It was crowded and hectic and I didn't want to have to worry about all of the things that young kids require - bathroom breaks, snacks, general entertainment. But this march was more about solidarity than a day downtown. I told my hesitant husband that it didn't matter how long we stayed - I just wanted the kids to go. To see it. And to understand what is happening, and why it is important that we take a stand.
And so the kids made signs. I told them they could write whatever they wanted.
|I couldn't have said it better myself.|
|Most poignant sign of the day.|
|A proud mom.|
|Casey on the shoulders of our dear friend - who happens to be an immigrant from Iran.|
And then we returned to the Bethesda suburbs and continued on with our privileged Sunday evening, of swim meets and meals out and watching Homeland, while the world around us continued to unravel.
Day 2 - Monday, 1/30
I was still reeling from the day before, but I was very much looking forward to my Monday evening plans. As part of the perks of being a blogger, I was invited to a screening of Gender Revolution: A Journey with Katie Couric, at the National Geographic Headquarters in DC. The documentary looks at the complexities of gender, transgender issues, and gender identity. It was to be followed by a Q&A panel with documentary participants, including Katie Couric herself. I invited my dear friend, Valerie, who is a policy wonk when it comes to public policy and gender.
|We clean up well.|
Us native Washingtonians know better than to approach a "celebrity" in public places, as politicians and the like are a dime a dozen in these parts. So I played it cool and pretended I had way better things to do than try to eavesdrop or catch an extra glimpse. But by the time I got to the reception at National Geographic and had
As cool as it was to meet Katie Couric, that was the superficial part of the evening. The real depth came from the documentary itself, which explored the lives of transgendered individuals, and what they face. I was inspired by stories of parents of transgendered children, who have embraced them wholeheartedly, of transgendered youth speaking out for their rights, and of the bravery exhibited by this marginalized and misunderstood segment of society. The evening was about acceptance and love and having an open mind, and I think pretty much everyone in the audience was moved to tears at some point in the evening.
With the depression of the days that had passed since January 20th, it was refreshing. If you need your faith in humanity restored a bit, I highly recommend watching it when it premieres on February 6, on NatGeo.
Day 3 - Tuesday, 1/31
My husband and I are notorious for going to random concerts. Richard Marx, Lionel Ritchie, and Neil Diamond, are a few of the gems that
It was supposed to be a random, fun night, for my husband and I to drink wine and eat some nachos. Then, two things happened:
1) In September of 2015, when I was just coming off of my this crazy, Whole 30 diet, I broke my sobriety with another Five For Fighting concert at the Birchmere. And unfortunately, in my tipsy state at the end of the night, my arm knocked a glass of water and it spilled all over the lap of the woman sitting across from me. It was one of those shameful, shameful moments that an apology would never suffice to fix, and you live with it and cringe at the memory, but are thankful for the anonymity of the world.
I shit you not. THIS SAME COUPLE WAS THERE ON TUESDAY. SITTING AT THE TABLE NEXT TO US.
I locked eyes with the woman. And just like that. She remembered. I remembered. And the shame flushed over me again, 18 months later.
In addition to shame, I also found this to be absolutely hysterical. I mean, who spills water over a random woman, and then sees them at the same place again, over a year later? I proceeded to text all of my friends all over the world the story, thinking it was going to be the big story of the evening.
BUT I WAS WRONG.
2) About 5 minutes before the concert started, a party of 6 sat at the table behind us that had been marked "Reserved." I took a quick glance and then a double take, grabbed my husband's leg, and proclaimed:
That's Betsy DeVos at the table behind us.
My husband smirked, assuming that it was yet another instance of false identification, which I am known for. He took an unassuming glance.
Holy shit. That is Betsy DeVos.
BETSY DEVOS WAS SITTING AT THE TABLE NEXT TO US.
I'm not going to go all crazy political on here. But suffice it to say that I loathe Betsy DeVos. LOATHE. I think she is the most unqualified person to ever be nominated for a cabinet position and would absolutely ruin the public school system in our country. I feel so strongly about it that I had spent the bulk of my afternoon reading about her and getting all fired up about it.
And what are the odds, there she was.
|Apologies for picture quality. I was trying to be conspicuous.|
I could feel her behind me. And since I could feel her, I couldn't escape the nightmare that is reality right now. Five For Fighting was singing about oceans and love and riddles and all I could think about was Donald Trump and the Muslim Ban and the transgender community from the documentary the night prior that he is going to screw over. And I periodically would look back at her, wondering - Does she actually think this is normal? Is this really what she wants? Is she a rational human being?
I was waiting for the band to play my favorite song, and they saved it for last. I was looking forward to being lost in the music, and then it came.
John Ondrasik, the singer, dedicated the song - MY FAVORITE SONG OF ALL TIME - to his old friends "Betsy and Dick," and thanked them for their service.
The audience applauded. I booed.
And then he sang the song.
Look, everyone is entitled to their opinion. I have since found out that John Ondrasik is a die hard Republican, and that's cool and all.
But now my favorite song is tainted. Forever. I will never again hear the song "World" without thinking of Betsy DeVos. And that just sucks.
CASE STUDY OVER.
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