A Family Affair

When Reagan was elected in 1980, that's when I started pushing back on my parents' conservative political and societal ideologies. In fact, throughout high school in the early 1980's I always empathized with those undermined because of who they were and those who wanted equality and equity for all. Anyone whose civil rights were in jeopardy and who were subjected to the conservative politics of that engulfed the 1980's post President Carter. 

Looking back now, I'm still so very grateful that my parents let me push back and debate on their political and societal ideologies. I'm still so very grateful they pushed back and debated mine. They listened patiently as I argued why we needed to support marginalized people, from immigrants to LGBTQ to people of color to the homeless -- that they all had a right to exist. Sometimes I'd get so frustrated and angry when they'd give up and tell me they that "it's just the way things are". We sometimes agreed on things and sometimes agreed to disagree. And sometimes we'd just tell each other that the other was just plain wrong. But that was the extent of my protesting. 

Because I was also still a teenager who loved school, played sports, made messes, slept in until noon, liked girls, and just wanted to have fun, without degrading most others who weren't like me. Back then I never really cared about whether someone was gay or straight. We never really talked about it as a family, nor did I talk about it with my friends, at least until the AIDS epidemic began. Unfortunately, I was still guilty over the years of using "gay" and "faggot" as comedic but derogatory slurs and did so with my friends for many years after high school. It's something I finally stopped doing and encouraged my friends to do the same.

Once my wife Amy and I had children, we knew that we were all in for being empathic and caring parents who would love their children no matter who they were or what they'd become. So many of our generation, Gen X, were brought up to not challenge authority, especially after the societal counter-culture upheaval of the 1960's and early 1970's. It wasn't quite the old English proverb, dating from the 15th century, "Children should be seen and not heard," especially since many of our parents worked while we were in school and we had way too much time to kill without the adults around, so we weren't seen or heard a lot. But there were those of us who were encouraged not to speak out against things we were supposedly too young and immature to understand. 

And so many of us bit our tongues a lot over the decades and didn't speak out, even when the powers that be created policies that didn't serve our best interests and muted our rights. What I've realized is that many of my generation became supportive apologists for the conservative status quo that continued from the 1970's and 1980's, and into the 1990's and 2000's, even with two-term Democratic presidents being elected. And even if they never really agreed with policy decisions that disparately impacted already marginalized segments of the population that included them. 

Amy and I truly believed it was going to be different for our family. As our children grew older, we took them to peaceful protests and marches in support of women's rights and more. We discussed current events at home, and they would ask us questions. We encouraged them to find multiple verifiable sources for things they heard or read about. Although we're much more aligned ideologically than I was with my parents, they still push back on us, and us on them. 

But our teens are still teens doing the things teens do that can drive parents a little crazy -- sleeping in, making messes, the emotional roller coaster rides, and more. The difference for us is that we listen to them, and they listen to us (mostly), allowing for a reciprocal trusting and understanding dialogue about nearly anything they/we want to talk about. That's why when Bryce shared they wanted to organize a local march event to support the rights of LGBTQIA+ people that are in jeopardy (along with the rights of us all), we were more than proud and supportive. 

Bryce also wanted to do a school walkout, in which they get students to walk out of class and school, which we were not supportive of. For one, I'm on the local school board and I could not support that because our district supports the safety and well-being of all students with a strong policy against discrimination, harassment, and retaliation. 

The "We Will Not Be Erased" march that Bryce conceived and organized with help from Amy (Mom) and The Diversity Center, along with the support of many other organizations including the Santa Cruz County Office of Education and Santa Cruz City Schools, was an inspiring and peaceful event with student and adult speakers, chants, music, and hundreds in attendance with a whole lot of empathy, love, and support for not only LGBTQIA+ rights, but for the rights of us all. 

This was also a family affair, and to put a positive 21st century spin and the 15th century proverb I referenced earlier: "Children should be seen and heard and encouraged to take the chances and make the changes that we never made so that the world will be a better place for all people." 

Amen.

We Will Not Be Erased

When Bryce shared their vision statement about organizing a local march event to support the rights of LGBTQIA+ people, we were more than proud and supportive.

Hello! My name is Bryce Grossman, I’m a 14 year old living in Santa Cruz and I identify as nonbinary. I’m inviting you to participate in an event I’m hosting, “WE WILL NOT BE ERASED”. I’ve always had activist ideals and I finally felt compelled enough to make something happen. I’m quite tired of waking up everyday fearing for mine and other’s safety and wellbeing. I want this event to help people feel empowered to live their truth, to not hide themselves away. 

I hope this event will build a stronger community around a shared goal of respect for LGBTQIA+, and in solidarity of all marginalized groups.

Amen. "In solidarity of all marginalized groups".

My wife Amy and I have always wanted our children to understand the historical systemic problems that continue to negatively impact and diminish the lives of women, LGBTQIA+ people, people of color, people in poverty, immigrants, people with mental health problems, people with special needs and disabilities, and other marginalized groups. 

And not just to understand all this systemic discrimination and why we need equitable rights. To also think critically about what's really happening today and how to make the world a better place for all, instead of a dark dystopian place for all. A more empathetic and inclusive place for everyone. Including the very people and governments that perpetuate this systemic discrimination and division.

I guess that means we're "woke", something that too many around the world misunderstand and use against the very people who want to be better informed, educated, and conscious of social injustice and racial inequality. That's literally what woke means. But that's not necessarily appropriate for us, since it comes from the Black community and is in reference to the racism they've experienced and how they need to be aware of it all to survive.

Regardless, we want to be better informed, educated, and conscious of social injustice and racial inequality. Today when I hear things like "the woke radical left ideology endangers our children", it makes me angry and frustrated. Because it's these very anti-woke policies that minimize the marginalized, sustain systemic discrimination, and only make the world safer and fair for the conservative-right in power.

If you know anything about history, you know where this all could go because of where it has gone before:

• Tulsa Race Massacre (1921)
• Apartheid in South Africa (1948–1994)
• Japanese American Internment (1942–1945)
• The Pulse Nightclub Shooting (2016)
• Stonewall Riots (1969)
• Chechnya Anti-Gay Purge (2017–present)
• Holocaust (1941–1945)
• Cambodian Genocide (1975–1979)
• Rwandan Genocide (1994)

Just do an online search for any of these to learn more. One horrific act of violence after another. The slippery slope to all this continues to be greased in America today, with shifting societal scapegoat norms, and co-opted racism, sexism, misogyny, and more at the highest levels of government, all leading to discriminatory government policies against specific groups. Deporting immigrants. Dismantling DEI. Deleting LGBTQIA+ and women's rights. And the list goes on and on in today's America (and around the world).

Which is again why when Bryce told us they wanted to organize a student march for the rights of LGBTQIA+ people in partnership with The Diversity Center, we were more than enthusiastic. They have been paying attention to what's happening around them and do not want to be erased. 

As the adults and parents in the room, we've been involved in protests and marches when it comes to protecting the civil rights of others, contacted our elected officials, written articles, have fought the good fight on the ground where we live, and have encouraged the activism of our children. But I've felt exhausted and hopeless the past few months, not sure what to do, if anything. 

Bryce decided to step up and speak out. They are braver than me and have given us hope that we can and should continue to speak out and protest where this country is headed. 

Supporting the rights of one group never has to come at the expense of others, not when it supports all our rights as humans and citizens. And yet, that's exactly what America is doing. 

We will not be erased, Bryce. We will do everything we can to ensure that. 

Hope Is Always "Here"

We watched it together as a family. That wasn't unusual, as we do watch various shows together, but there's not too many movies that we all agree on.

And this one wasn't necessarily agreed upon at first; our youngest Bryce usually doesn't like the movies that Mom and Dad pick out. Our oldest Beatrice doesn't feel the same way, but it's still harder to align likability for all of us. 

Everyone seemed interested in this one, though. The movie was Here starring Tom Hanks and Robin Wright and the reviews were not very good. There was still something intriguing about it with the primary movie scene set in the same place over time: a living room with a big window to the world beyond. There was also something Wes Anderson-esque about that, which is why Bryce and me really liked the way it was filmed. It was also based on a graphic novel by Richard McGuire, something both our artist teens like, especially Beatrice. 

The story itself focused more on one family over time, but the movie didn't always work. What did work was the theme and it resonated with all of us. The theme for us, of loving where you live and who you live it with -- "here". Bryce and I cried; we are the family criers, that's for sure. Amy (Mom) and Beatrice are feelers, just not criers. 

While we watched together, Beatrice laid on Amy and Bryce laid on me. This "here" for me has always been special. We've lived here for nearly 19 years and are grateful for every moment that we've had in this house. We lived here before we decided to have children. Bryce was born in this house. Beatrice was supposed to be. Our kids have grown up in this house (and continue to). They shared a room until middle school, and after some renovating, now each has their own. 

We've lived in every inch of this house. We've loved, laughed, cried, screamed, brooded, and laughed and loved some more. There's no other place we'd rather be than here while the world keeps spinning outside our front window. That spinning "here" includes the community we live in, the state we live in, the country we live in, the world we live in. We're Americans who love our "here".

But our "here" is in danger; we've never lived in fear until now. American democracy has certainly had its challenges and setbacks, but today it's being transformed from the inside-out by a fast-moving coup that's doing everything it can to take away our civil rights, our education, our livelihoods, and our safety, all for the sake of oppressive power and control. Even those who supported it all and who think these changes will benefit them will lose it all in the end, too. 

That's the point -- that we all lose in the end except for a wealthy few. And in the meantime, these dismantling actions are supposed to make your head spin. To make you scared. To paralyze you. To make you give up. But we stand tall where you are and stay vigilant. Fight the good fights about human rights when and where you can. Speak up, speak out, and speak truth for a better bigger picture. 

Today, our morning meditation mantra was this: Hope is my source of strength. It provides the endurance needed for positive and sustained change. As I look around our house and out our window, I know that hope is always "here", and our family is all in. 

Because I'm Proud to be an American

When I look at our children, our daughters, our teens, I finally see who they'll be as young adults. Really see them. Never in a million years could my wife Amy and I imagined who they'd become. We do the best job we can of parenting them, and the rest, well, it's all them. 

It's enlightening and it's scary simultaneously. Literally to the bone. Enlightening because I couldn't be prouder of the strong, independent, no-nonsense, and empathetic humans they're becoming. Scary because of the world they're becoming all of this in. 

We live in a country that's always held the promise of equality, equity, liberty, and freedom for all, to live and be who we want, within the bounds of our constitution and bill of rights, regardless of our gender, our age, or our race and ethnicity. 

In practice, our history reveals again and again how beaten and bruised that promise has been. But we keep trying to get there, and there are those who keep trying to hold us back. I believe the majority is in the getting there, otherwise this grand democratic republic experiment would be over.

There have been those moments when the experiment teeters on the edge of authoritarianism, where ultimately unchecked power costs us our personal freedoms and works to require strict obedience to those in charge. I'm grateful to have been around the world with my wife and my children and not once have I thought, I do not want to live in a place without inclusive freedom. So, here we are today with our children/teenagers/soon-to-be adults (in a few years -- because time flies) in the middle of another divisive national election. 

What I've always loved about being an American is that, within our Constitution and Bill of Rights boundaries, we can all believe what we want and live the way we want. We may vehemently disagree on the current issues in front of us, but we still have the freedom to disagree, debate, and again, believe what we we want and live the way we want. Maybe along the way we learn to compromise and fully appreciate our shared experiences. At least that's always the aspirational goal and one we impart on our children. 

However, when the ultimate goal is to limit and even eliminate my family's personal freedoms and rights so that we must believe and live the way others want to us to, and compromise all that's afforded to us in the promise of America, then it's no longer an inclusive democratic republic. And here we are again, teetering on that razor's edge.

I have to believe that the majority of us, with or without children, will work together to keep our grand ol' democracy, with all its continuous contradictions, flaws, and historical scars, alive and well. I know my wife and I will. I hope our children will, too. 

Our youngest child, Bryce, a fiercely independent teen who's a little too cynical at this age, always asks why I keep our American flag out on our front porch. 

My response is aways the same (as was my parents), "Because I'm proud to be an American."

Across The Middle Spectrum

Ironically our family was at the amusement park called Great America when the assassination attempt happened. Someone had shot former President Trump in the ear at a campaign rally in Pennsylvania. Multiple rounds were fired, and the shooter also killed another bystander and critically wounded two others. 

We discussed briefly as a family about why violence like this is never okay, whether you support the candidate or not. Afterwards I worried about what might happen now. Just like when I watched the violent protests after George Floyd's murder and the January 6 insurrection unfold.

Will there be more violence after this assassination attempt? If so, when and where? I thought about all this as I watched the diverse group of families pass back and forth. Groups of teens also walked past us, laughing and teasing each other, not thinking about the adult world breaking down. If any of them had heard the news, no one seemed to be worried about it. 

I remember when I was a teen President Reagan was shot. I also remember how upset my parents got, too. But what I don't recall was the polarizing political hatred we have today. I mean, there's always been a liberal-conservative divide, but I wasn't paying as much attention back then because I was only 15 years old. Our teens are the same age now, and although I'd argue they're more aware than Amy and I were, they're still teens whose attention spans move on quickly. 

Letting our fear of extremism dictate our lives and where we go and what we do isn't the answer, because that's not living; that's not freedom. But I also can't imagine living in a country where my family must be wary about what we believe and who we support and what we share publicly for fear of being targeted, attacked verbally and/or physically, or even jailed or killed. Although, it does feel like we're on the messy fringe of that now in America. After the assassination attempt, we keep hearing from other leaders that there's no place for this kind of violence in America, and yet, here it is.

So, in today's America, we live in a polarized ideological nightmare. You're either with us or against us. Of God or against. Republican or Democrat. Independent or apathetic. Too conservative or too liberal. Too old or too young. Too black or too white. Too straight or too gay. Too rich or too poor. Very right or very wrong.

And it all feels very wrong when we have to worry about the safety for all of us, adults and kids, across the middle spectrum. Instead of blaming the other side, are we willing talk with one another and work together to figure out how to empathize, compromise, co-exist, and ultimately govern in a way that underscores how our very nation was established on the premise that all of us are created equal? That as American citizens we can all celebrate the rights of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness"? Can we convince the polarized extremes to do the same after discounting others deemed not worthy?

Can we? That's an aspirational wish I wish we all could reengage and reinvest in, because for me, that was always the idea for the great United States of America experiment, and one we try to impart on our children. That "we hold these truths to be self-evident," which evidently, many do not. Blessings to us all anyway. 

Deeply Rooted

We always wanted to do things our own way when we first got together. We wanted to travel. We wanted to get married and do our own wedding. My wife Amy wanted to keep her own name and not take mine. We didn't want to have children (until we did). Our families didn't really understand or agree with some our choices, but we were accepted nonetheless. (And that went the other way, too.) 

We were also always more progressive with our politics, especially on social issues. We were (and are) always more supportive of programs that help those marginalized in our society -- people experiencing homelessness, people experiencing poverty, women, children, people of color, LGBTQ people, neurodivergent people, and others. We believe that everyone has the right to be emotionally, psychologically, and physically safe, sound, and supported. Our families didn't always understand or agree with this either, but empathy remained (in reverse as well). Before Amy and I even knew each other, she loved the themes of individuality and tolerance in Marlo Thomas's Free to Be...You and Me and I loved the empathy and inclusivity of Sesame Street. 

Of course we've raised our children with these same values, because we can in America. We live in a country that's supposed to celebrate and protect these values, as well as those counter to ours. We live in a country that's supposed to protect our individual liberties, guaranteed by the 14th amendment. An amendment that was ratified on July 9, 1868, and that was supposed to extend liberties and rights granted by the Bill of Rights to formerly enslaved people. But it was also historically a time when those marginalized in our society didn't have the same supportive programs, and laws, that exist today.

Although we're saddened by the Supreme Court's decision to overturn Roe v. Wade and give the states the authority to regulate abortion and taking away the constitutional right for women to choose, this post isn't about that specifically. It's about the broader progressive theme outlined above and this:

The Constitution protects some rights that are not specifically mentioned in the Constitution, but only rights that are “deeply rooted in this Nation’s history and tradition.”

This is part of Supreme Court Justice Alito's rationale of why some liberties should be protected while others shouldn't be. When you think about that phrase, "deeply rooted in this Nation's history and tradition," and then imagine living in America in 1868, right after the Civil War, none of the marginalized people listed above were deeply rooted. Many had no rights whatsoever and were considered unlawful, regardless of the Bill of Rights and the 14th amendment.

Today, instead of ensuring our promised citizen liberties for all, what's still "deeply rooted in this Nation's history and tradition" is patriarchy, white supremacy, racism, discrimination, misogyny, sexism, and inequality. We were supposed to be better than this; were supposed to make progress; were supposed to find compromise in our differences; were supposed to figure out a more perfect union. 

There are those of us who feel like any progress we've made is slipping away. Voter turnout was lower than ever in many of the primaries this year. If the majority really feel that this country is no longer "we the people," then all liberties and freedoms are potentially lost to those who only care about power and control. 

Amy and I may be a long way from Free to Be...You and Me and Sesame Street, but our liberties and freedoms don't have to be lost -- we vote, we volunteer, we speak out, we get involved, we fight for positive change, we work together regardless of our differences. Our hope is that more of us, including our own children, become our best future prevention offensive to ensure that everyone has the right to be emotionally, psychologically, and physically safe, sound, supported, and are afforded the opportunities to grow and thrive. These are the liberties and freedoms we want to be "deeply rooted" in America today and tomorrow and will continue to strive for.

The Future of Freedom

I remember my childhood on the 4th of July: running around with my cousins in my grandparents' backyard, the summer heat beating down on us while we ate hamburgers and hot dogs, homemade ice cream and watermelon. I felt free without a care in the world. Even with the personal troubles we had at home growing up, those moments with the bigger family represented freedom and safety to me. 

Over the years I got to know this idea, America, more and more. Land of the free and home of the brave, where all men were created equal, endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. 

At least, that's what we were taught. In school, we were taught the sanitized version of America, and at the time I didn't know any better. However, growing up with Schoolhouse Rock did help cement the why of America and gave me a civics background in song that was more memorable than any civics class I had from grade school to high school. How I loved the Constitution Preamble episode (those of you from our generation can sing along!).

When I was in college, and then after college, I started studying history, the real history of this country, and how we weren't all created or treated equal. Not by a long shot. Indigenous people, people of color, women, gay people, and so many more segments of our country's population were marginalized, discriminated against and worse. It took nearly 200 years after the Declaration of Independence for the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to be passed, which prohibits discrimination on the basis of race, color, religion, sex or national origin. 

There's a great new show on Netflix called We the People. It's kind of like Schoolhouse Rock meets 2021, with today's musical artists composing and singing the songs. So far there have been two episodes: the first one is about how we the people can affect positive change in our country, and the second is about the Bill of Rights. We can't wait to watch the rest with our girls!

As I was thinking about this 4th of July and how my wife Amy and I continue to feel about learning America's history, the real history, and how we want our daughters to do the same, I scanned old July 4th photos on my phone. I found a cute one from six years ago with Beatrice and Bryce holding flags and dressed in old-timey clothes from 100 years ago. 

Pre-covid, Amy and I loved taking the girls Wilder Ranch State Park and celebrate an old-fashioned 4th of July. The park staff and other volunteers would also reenact a women's suffrage parade, complete with signs calling for the right of women to vote in elections. That's an important part of history for our girls to understand and to ensure it doesn't disappear. 

We love this country. Its ideals have empowered many a positive change for all kinds people, here and abroad, and we're grateful for those who have fought for those ideals. It's taken hundreds of years to get here, and we've still got a lot long ways to go in America, and go the distance we will. Because the future of freedom is always at stake. 

Swept Away

"This land is your land and this land is my land
From California to the New York island
From the redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters
This land was made for you and me..."

–Woody Guthrie, This Land Is Your Land

She almost didn't fly over Fremont Street. We had booked the zip line ride weeks in advance, with our oldest daughter Beatrice agreeing to do the ride with me, her dad. Thirty minutes before our scheduled time, Bea grappled with and stressed out over the reality of flying 114 feet above all the people below walking along the famous downtown Las Vegas Fremont Street.

I on the other hand, grappled with and stressed out over the reality of taking our daughters to Vegas in the first place, the beginning of our two-week summer road trip. Since the first time I remember going to Las Vegas, I never really understood why parents brought their young children and babies there. The many times my wife Amy and I have gone, we've wondered out loud the same thing. Two days in Vegas as adults, and we swear we'll never go again.

But there are things for families to do together, especially for pre-teens and teens. And with that older kid awareness also comes the questions about all the less-than-kid-friendly things they see around them, which we readily answered since we talk openly about the world with our children. 

There was still plenty to do: we played carnival games at Circus Circus, went to the Coca-Cola store and sample sodas from around the world, went to the Hershey store, watched the Bellagio fountain show, ate yummy food, went shopping, went swimming back at the RV campground, and then Bea and I were swept away on the zip line. It was awesome!

For months we planned this summer road trip in our camper, one that we’re very grateful we were able to take. One that echoed the arc of a trip Amy and I took 14 years ago in May of 2007. A trip where the idea of the girls was born. Or, the idea of children for us was born. A two-week trip through the Southwest starting in Vegas and continuing through many gorgeous National Parks, including Bryce's namesake (Bryce Canyon National Park). A trip where our dog Jenny would this time have to stay home and be taken care of since we'd be doing too many non-dog things. A trip where I again take care of the poop.

After Vegas and Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area, we headed to Bryce Canyon National Park. And it was again just as emotional for Amy and me as it was 14 years ago. We went into the park at sunset the first night we were there, and all of us were awestruck. This wondrous span of geological time reminded us again of our family journey we embarked on in 2008 with Beatrice, followed by 2010 with Bryce. 

Bryce was thrilled to meet her namesake, and even more thrilled to complete another Junior Ranger program. Kids who do these programs take an oath to protect parks, continue to learn about parks, and share their own Junior Ranger story with friends and family. Each park has its own Junior Ranger booklet to work through with fun learning exercises -- and you earn cool badges in the end! She had already done many of these during other trips we’ve taken and can now wear all of them on her Junior Ranger vest. Beatrice completed some of these too in the past, but now she's a little old for them, although she does help Bryce complete them, as do me and Amy.

From there we went to Zion National Park, another park replete with rugged splendor. And way too many people – the park was already packed early when we arrived. We still got to do everything we wanted to included hiking into The Narrows and the Virgin River. What we didn’t do is hike Angels Landing.

If you’re not familiar with Angels Landing, it’s an iconic rock formation in Zion 1,500 feet tall with a hiking trail that includes a series of chains, guard-rails and carved steps along the way. Amy and I did it 14 years earlier, nearly making it to the end, but in the end we couldn’t finish it. The last half mile or so, the trail is only a few feet wide, and that’s where we stopped. At one point as we held onto the chain, a family with young kids scrambled around us and encouraged us to keep going. We did not. Looking up at Angels Landing again 14 years later, I could not believe we ever friggin’ did it in the first place considering my fear of heights (even though I did do the zip line referenced above and continue to do things that face this fear). 

While in the Zion area, we went to Pipe Spring National Monument, which is managed by both the National Park Service and the Kaibab Band of Paiute Indians. This is the only water source between the Virgin River and the Colorado River, and its history is a familiar and sad one in America. One where white settlers displaced the indigenous Paiute Indians so they could own the water, and then they brought in their cattle and destroyed the expansive grasslands the Indians had lived symbiotically with for generations. Women and girls from the local tribes were also sold into the slave trade by Spanish settlers. This happened again and again to the indigenous people in America. That combined with systemic racism and what happened to people of color over the past 400 years in this country are realities we want our children to understand -- and to not stand for them happening again. 

The last part of our trip took us to Williams Arizona, the legendary Route 66 and the Grand Canyon. It was really fun being on Route 66 again and talking to the girls about it. How it used to be the main traveling road from Chicago to Los Angeles, and how many parts of it were what inspired the original Cars movie. When Amy and I went on our Southwest trip 14 years ago, we stopped and visited Seligman Arizona, another famous Route 66 destination. This time we didn’t stop after we left Williams area to head home, but we did drive through to show our daughters. 

But before we left Williams, and before we visited the Grand Canyon, we went to Sedona Arizona. One of Amy’s best friends lives near there and met us for lunch. After lunch, our family went on a Pink Jeep Tour, off road nearly 600 feet up in elevation, jostling us up and down and sideways like an intense Disney ride (think the Indiana Jones ride). That was super fun with super views!

I'd be remiss not to mention Bearizona, a drive-thru animal park in Williams with lots of sleepy animals. Keep your windows up and doors locked at all times, because seriously, sleepy wolves, bears and bison can wake up and charge (and 2 of the 3 will eat you)! After the drive-thru, there was another part of the the animal park that we walked through. It was fun for the kids and we even had a toddler grizzly bear waving at us.

One of the last big things we did was visit the Grand Canyon, the grandest of all canyons (that we’ve seen to date). We also got to see some family for the first time in a long time who live in Arizona, and so they met us in Williams and joined us in the Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon (really a series of canyons carved by time and the Colorado River) holds such immense grandeur. It can also really make you feel so small and insignificant compared to the billions of years of geological time. I continue to push myself to face my fear of heights, and so walking out onto some of the railed ledges definitely fired up my vertigo. 

The views were breathtaking and the experiences unforgettable; we were all swept away. Again and again on this trip, we were all swept away and reminded of how grateful we are. Of why we started our family in the first place. Of why we love to travel. Of why we love to learn. Of why we love America – with all its wonder, imperfections and tragic history – and its unwritten future where we hope our children and yours will help each other, work together and thrive. 

“…this land was made for you and me..."

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

"If I could wave my magic wand
I'd set everybody free..."

–Rush, Presto

She used to be a certified diver. Even worked at a marine science camp for a couple of years, which was years before I met her. After we started dating, we traveled all over the world, including many places with warm water where we did plenty of snorkeling. I always wanted to get certified to scuba dive, but it just never happened. I thought about doing it in the Monterey Bay where we live, where the water is a chilly 55-65 degrees Fahrenheit year round. But that never happened either.

Of course, I'm talking about me and my wife, Amy, mother of our two daughters, Beatrice and Bryce. Ever since we met almost 23 years ago one day on the beach, Amy never went into the water where we live, only the year we met when it was an El Niño year and the water was warmer than usual and October was really hot.

Over the years since our daughters were born, they both have loved playing in the ocean. Still love playing in the ocean. So much so that we got them wetsuits and have gone from inflatable boogie boards to regular boogie boards. No surfing lessons yet, but lots boogie boarding and splashing around. I got a wetsuit and bigger boogie board last year and now join the girls in the ocean.

Finally, Amy caved in and joined us this year, with a new wetsuit on and boogie board in hand. It only took the current COVID-19 pandemic to drive her into the water, since we're not going anywhere anytime soon, even with more states opening up now that the summer is upon us. She's glad she did, too! So much fun!

This weekend is Memorial Day Weekend, an American holiday where we honor and mourn military personnel who have died while serving in the United States Armed Forces -- over 1.1 million men and women killed in all U.S. wars to date. It's also the official kick-off to summertime and the countdown to school being over again for another year. We're planning even more boogie boarding time!

Except this time, everything's different. We still have shelter-in-place orders upon us. School has been distance learning for our kids and millions of others. Our kids (and millions of others) are more stressed than they've ever been. We've only had mostly virtual contact with friends and family. Our beaches where we live are closed from 11 am to 5 pm, unless you're in the ocean and/or exercising on the beach (which we do!). Meaning to keep it moving and not camping out on the beach under the wonderful Santa Cruz sun like so many people love to do on a holiday weekend like this.

We also need to keep social distancing and wear masks in public and in stores in order to keep flattening the curve and mitigating the spread of coronavirus. Nearly 100,000 people have died in the U.S. from this virus and we're closing in on 2 million confirmed cases. The economy has also been rocked by this pandemic, with over 40 million people now out of work. The Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk remains closed, with 1,100 workers being laid off and furloughed just last week, so there's no summertime amusement park for our area to enjoy.

Through everything we've all experienced during this time of COVID-19, I keep thinking about the importance of Memorial Day, probably now more than ever. Why? That's a great question. My dad was in the Air Force, but never served during wartime, and we've had other friends and family in the armed services, but no one we knew who ever died serving. Plus, we don't agree with the reasons for many of the wars post WWII. However, we understand we're a democratic republic with many civil liberties and personal freedoms so many other parts of the world have never known.

I'm threading a needle here, and it's an important one, one that has kept our nation's fabric and flag mostly intact for almost 250 years, regardless of where we stand on any issue and all the cultural divisions and societal inequities of today. We should never forget the sacrifice military men and women have given our country since the Revolutionary War. It doesn't matter if some of them struggled with what they were asked to do, they still sacrificed themselves for this country and for our constitutional freedoms.

Which is why it's really not much to ask citizens today to sacrifice some our own personal freedoms for the greater good of saving lives and livelihoods in curbing this pandemic as quickly as we can. Or, at least, it shouldn't be that much to ask. And because my family can still go to the beach and boogie board in the ocean, we can continue to make the sacrifices needed today for tomorrow.

We thank you all for your service and sacrifice. Our freedom is always welcome.

What Will Remain and Become

I told her to follow me, but she wanted to see and read all the descriptive panels along the way. We were in the National Archives in Washington DC viewing the founding documents of America, something both our girls didn't want to do initially. That's because we were out at lunch across the street and it was raining hard. Over three inches fell that afternoon. Plus, we'd already been hauling the girls to the White House and then a special FBI tour. We're a go-go-go family, so our speed with our girls is always on high.

But, we convinced them to go across the street. Told them we were going actually, and that they didn't have a choice. And so we all trudged through the rain across the street and entered the hallowed halls where the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and the Bill of Rights are kept. When we entered the rotunda, the girls were in awe. We were in awe. My wife Amy and I had been to DC prior to the girls and seen all this already, but it never gets old for us. No matter where we are the political spectrum, we're proud Americans through and through. And it was exciting to be able to bring the whole family on my work trips again and make a little vacation out of them.

Which is why it was bittersweet for us, just because of where we're at with our country now, more polarized than ever.

I pointed upwards to the murals above us and said, "Those are the founding fathers — and behind them were just as many founding mothers." Amy nodded and I teared up little because we feel there’s so much at stake for us all right now and we wonder what of America will remain and what it will become for our daughters. Beatrice and Bryce both seemed to enjoy it and even asked us a few questions.

I thought to myself, We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union...

The next day we continued our DC trip by going to the Holocaust Museum. We considered not taking them because of the difficult content, and then it was recommended that we go through the children's section called "Daniel's Story." Either way we decided we wanted them to know the story of the Holocaust, which was sadly only one of too many other atrocities some have brought on others because they feel they’re superior to them combined with the irrational fear of the few losing power and control, over and over again. And even in America it happens -- indigenous people, enslaved people and people held captive at our borders. We talked about how we can and should make a difference. When asked how it made them feel, Bea and Bryce said they were sad. We all left quietly and headed back to our hotel.

While Amy and I have no idea what will remain and become of our great country, we still have faith our constitution will persevere, and we'll do whatever we can as citizens to ensure that the democratic republic experiment of America continues. Yes, we're all fallible and we all have our own biases, but we as a family have no room for perpetuating fear or hate. We can't have room for that when there's so much more positive potential that abounds. That's what #BhivePower is all about.

This Idea, America

We live in America, land of the free and home of the brave, where all men (and finally women) are created equal. That was the idea, at least. 

Here in America today, we just want our girls to be safe and sound, armed with safety and self-defense skills we hope they'll never need. 

In America, we just want them to embody peace and love for all peoples and races, not anger and hate, and to denounce bullying, harassment and assault wherever and however it appears.

We just want them to grow up pushing for their own equality, to break through the patriarchal walls that have been so entrenched around us for thousands of years, but not at the expense of other marginalized groups, or even other men, along the way. 

We just want them to be citizen activists of goodness and fairness, to help those who otherwise wouldn't have an opportunity to better themselves, or a voice to ask for one. 

But we also just want them to be kids for now.

Because soon they won't be, and all these adult American considerations will eventually crowd out much of their childhood sensibilities. 

God, I'm such a buzz-kill sometimes.

These are the things I think about, a lot, and I thought of all these things (again) this past week, especially after spending a weekend with lifelong friends and talking about toxic masculinity. It was the weekend of the women's march, and Martin Luther King Jr. Day. In the past we'd all marched together locally for these events, but this time I was with my friends, and then I worked on Martin Luther King Jr. Day while my wife took our two girls to the local march.

Like we'd done in the previous year, the girls made their own signs. Bryce's said "Peace" and Beatrice's said "You Dream Big."

We're an American family that, for the most part, have been thankful that we've provided a loving, supportive environment, as well as financial stability, for our children. Yet, we haven't had to look over our shoulders our whole lives like many people of color have had to do in America. We haven't experienced prejudice or racism like too many have in this country. A country of immigrants actually, by choice and by force, most of us at any rate.

We've talked to our girls about these topics, and they do have some understanding of what it means to discriminate against others because they're different. We're also the very people who can help make a difference, who's children can pass on a legacy of empathy and positive activism for all. 

This idea of America is in danger, however. Blatant racism has again raised its hateful multi-headed hydra (although it's always been there). Women are standing tall, while unfortunately their rights are being rolled back decades when it comes to domestic violence and assault. White patriarchy is holding on with all its ugly might. And yet, my heart bleeds with endless hope.

We just want our girls to be kids for now. And safe. And to embody peace and love and dreaming big.

But this idea of America is in peril. This idea is impermanent. 

This idea is so complicated. This idea is still celebrated.

This idea is a deliberate dream.

This idea is hated. This idea sets us free.

We the people, do ordain.

This idea, America.

To Brave the Hope

The blue tag swirled down the streetlight pole like a sloppy signature, which was exactly what it was. I hadn't noticed it before and had no idea how long it had been there. Knowing me and my sometimes marginal peripheral awareness, it could've been there for weeks, even though the streetlight was directly in front of our house.

The Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) was delivering a Kidpower workshop that morning and our daughters and me had just finished a packed morning of soccer and the grocery store.

After unloading the groceries, I filled a bucket with soap and water and a new scrubbing sponge intent on cleaning up the graffiti. Before I went outside with the bucket, I told my daughters what I was going to do.

"Girls, I'm going to clean off the poll out front, okay?"

"Why?" Beatrice asked.

"Because someone painted on it when they shouldn't have. It's called graffiti and I want to clean it up."

"Okay," Beatrice said. Bryce was too engrossed in her iPad to comment.

"That's very helpful of you, Dad," Bea added.

I smiled. "Why, thank you, Bea."

"You're welcome."

It was a glorious day outside, a warm fall day bathed in cerulean blue sky. Heavenly even, like a day from the Albert Brooks and Meryl Streep comedy Defending Your Life, where everyday was 72 degrees, there were all-you-can-eat buffets where you'd never gain weight, bowling alleys, comedy clubs and more. When in fact, this was purgatory in the movie, the weigh station to heaven and hell.

I conjured the silly 1991 rom-com because the world had become more violently absurd than ever. A bizzaro pre-apocalyptic world where the super heroes aren't so super anymore, much less heroes. A disrespectful world where others deface and tag in the name of marking property that'll never be theirs. A wag-the-dog world teetering on the edge of civil wars where fake news is real and real news is fake. A world full of splintered agendas and raging biases where our leaders compromise principles and laws and bastardized religion for partisan short-term gains. A world where the worst inside all of us is celebrated because an angry few feel they've been legitimately oppressed as others had truly been for hundreds of years. And a world where violence against women and sexual assault are compartmentalized, rationalized and diminished in the face of overwhelming bittersweet awareness.

All this swirled inside me while I scrubbed the blue tag off the pole. Except that it wasn't coming off. At all. I even scraped at it with a putty knife and nothing. I started sweating and decided to try window cleaner on it. Still nothing. We didn't have anything else stronger, so I stood helpless starting at the pole. A neighbor drove by and then stopped in front of our driveway.

She asked what was going on and I explained the graffiti and that I couldn't get it off. She said they had some stronger "goo off" stuff back at the house and that I could use it. A few minutes after she drove away, another two neighbors were walking back from the nearby farmer's market. They too had some stronger "goo off" stuff and went to retrieve it.

Once I applied the stuff with steel wool the blue tag came right off. Like magic. After that I helped our neighbor remove more graffiti from a one-way sign on our street.

When the Mama got home from her workshop, I told her about the blue tag I found and that I cleaned it off.

"Thank you, Sweetie," she said.

"I only just noticed it this morning. How long had it been there on the pole?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"For at least I week. I was going to tell you about it."

A week, I thought. It could've been months for all I knew.

Sigh.

I know there will be more graffiti tags on streetlight poles and one-way signs. And I know we'll always be able to clean them off. But it's gotten harder to take the high road beyond the graffiti when the low road is so riddled with trolls and power predators these days.

When I shared that sentiment online a few days before the blue tag cleaning, a friend of mine answered:

Stay positive Kevin, people love that about you.

I smiled as I thought about it. I am positive most of the time. I am hopeful most of the time. But I'm even more thankful for the fact that there are many of us who are willing to take the high road, to remain positive, to make a difference regardless of our differences by taking action for the better however incremental or big, to ultimately prevent further social injustice and the literal moral unmooring of America.

I'm thankful for my wife who inspires me daily to brave the hope and put it in action, and my daughters as well who fuel my hope for the future. And I'm thankful for family and friends who inspire the same, that there is light and love and so many more of us willing to embody them both.

Right on and amen. Bring on that high road, please. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Stay Classy, America

Something was wrong. We knew it even before we saw what floated in the pool. At first, it had been another Saturday of summertime fun with the other neighborhood families -- swimming in a neighbor's Doughboy pool, listening to our favorite records albums and AM/FM radio hits, setting off leftover 4th of July street fireworks with lit cigarettes, eating barbecued hot dogs and hamburgers and fresh watermelon, drinking over-sweetened Kool Aid and lemonade while the adults boozed it up, told dirty jokes and laughed and laughed and laughed.

And then it got late, especially late for my younger sister and I being two of the youngest kids on the block. It was well after 9:00 PM, the murky purple sky had turned black. There was no moon, only the pinpoint sparkle of stars barely piercing the night, kept muted further by the valley heat. We'd all been indoors for a few hours, watching TV and staying cool at our neighbor's house with their modern central air conditioning. Once outside, the heat drove us all again to the above-ground Doughboy pool.

That tingling frost of fear rode spread up my spine and burst inside my frontal lobes. The pool lights were on and the pool sweep, too. And there they were: dozens and dozens of empty bottles bobbed and twirled in the pool. Many had already sunk to the bottom. I was only eight years old, but I half-expected to see a body resting at the bottom of the pool. Thank goodness that wasn't the case.

But we knew something was wrong even before that; the boisterous adults, all our parents, had gone fairly quiet in the last hour before our creepy discovery. As we stood and watched the bottles sink, the smell of chlorine and alcohol filled us up with a dreadful nausea.

Then the party was over. Our parents told us it was time to go home. Nobody asked what had happened, and no one offered an explanation, and yet the creep factor increased as soon as we walked into our own house. There was trash strewn on our living room floor and in the kitchen. There were nasty words written with lipstick across all our mirrors. There was Vaseline smeared around our toilet seat.

Our mom told us that some stranger had broken in and trashed our house, which we knew wasn't exactly true since most of us in the neighborhood never locked the front doors when we were just down the street. She put my sister and I to bed, and then through my door I could only hear the muffled anger of my parents fighting, yet another night of my alcoholic father's abuse escalated further by the all day's drinking and the vandalism in our house.

Decades later my mom would tell me what really happened. That the neighborhood adult friends had been pranking each other all summer, and then one drunken Saturday night, everyone turned on each other and did some real damage to each other's homes. Some neighbors never talked again after that. She said that the pranking became an exponential revenge game, one neighbor punching back at the other, over and over and over again.

But it wasn't just about the pranking either -- she had told me there was this constant unfiltered judgement of each other's families and a certain few who spouted back-stabbing bullying slurs just because they didn't like something about the other or felt unjustifiably threatened by the other.

Today in communities across America, we seem to be more polarized than ever. Or at least, we're more painfully aware of the polarization than I can recall (or that historians could probably point out otherwise). And we seem to be collectively encouraging it, although I'd argue that the ebb and flow of political correctness isn't the culprit either. We've used that scapegoat one too many times, to make incivility okay and for us to turn on each other so easily. Our leaders and other supposed role models now use the "he said -- she said" bullying polarity nearly flawlessly and it's been fully injected into our societal DNA.

In fact, I just witnessed yet again another Facebook conversation dissolve into a hot mess of personal attacks, jabs, upper cuts and right hooks. Plus, as we all know, the anonymity of social media (like Twitter) has become a vampiric outlet for too many of us.

When faced with these toxic interchanges, my wife and I do our best to use our Kidpower trash cans (throwing verbal attacks away and letting them go) instead of punching back, and our walk away power, as in "leaving in a powerful, positive way," and we teach our children the same. In fact, the best self-defense tactic is called "target denial" -- in other words, "don’t be there." We don't get it right all the time and it also doesn't mean we shouldn't face a bully and stand up for ourselves, and there are many options and flavors of defensive responses including physical self-defense if ever needed.

My hope is that most of us in the muddied middle will again fill and slow the growing chasm for ourselves, for our children and for future generations. That we'll do the hard work of finding empathic common ground even with discord and disagreement. Not to live together in harmony either, because that's a wishful illusion, but to co-exist as fruitfully and happily as possible while working together to keep this grand experiment of our republic thriving.

Stay classy, America. Time to celebrate the beauty and bravery of freedom ringing, not the thin-skinned ugly of civility shrinking.

All the Faith I Can Muster

Again with the silver and gold wars. The economics of labor, competitive advantage, business growth and profits have always broken the backs of, divided and suppressed the masses. The haves and the have nots remain seemingly affixed to their hierarchical posts regardless of the -ism present: capitalism, socialism, populism, racism, sexism, humanism, spiritualism, ad nauseam. And then we rise up, we blow things up, become bitterly fragmented and hopefully come back together -- and it still comes back to the silver and gold wars.

But our girls don't really know all this yet. They haven't been discriminated against yet being women, or have been singled out to benefit over other women because they're white. They haven't been paid 80 cents on the the dollar to what their male counterparts get paid. They haven't been verbally harassed or physically abused because of their gender, or enslaved in a third-world country to make things we buy in our civilized super stores worldwide.

Thankfully there have been and are positive, collaborative movements that help us thrive within our own tainted Eden, men and women alike of various races, ethnicities, social class and religious backgrounds. Like the emboldened local Women's March that the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife) helped to organize with other inspirational women and where our entire family (and community) had marched in. The global movement included millions of people around the world actually and is still strong in its positive insurgency. Like the magnet the Mama's mom got her recently -- KIND HEART * FIERCE MIND * BRAVE SPIRIT -- these words epitomize my wife and our girls and continuously inspire me.

Every few decades we experience a social upheaval, and here we are again -- from financial collapse and hope and change to the Tea Party a few years ago, to Bernie and Hillary and Donald Trump today. To the Women's March and the raucous town halls with our elected representatives throughout America where we demand that the many are acknowledged and their socioeconomic needs addressed by the few in power, not the other way around.

But our girls don't really know all this yet. Some of it, but not all of it. We talk about it and answer their questions generally. We also read to them about what's come before; we have a couple of the great picture books by Brad Meltzer about how "ordinary people can change the world." One about Rosa Parks and the other about Abraham Lincoln. For those with younger children, we highly recommend them. They tackle some pretty big adult subjects and make them accessible for kids' sensibilities and world views (and adults as well). We've read them many times with the girls.

Recently we read the I am Abraham Lincoln one again, and when we got to the part about the American Civil War, Bryce interrupted.

"You know, there are many silver wars all the time, but you know, there are gold wars, too. I've seen them."

"You mean civil wars, Sweetie," the Mama said.

Bryce shook her head. "No, silver wars, Mommy. Silver and gold wars."

Again with the silver and gold wars, the -ism's and the ad nauseam. We, the ordinary people, are again blowing things up in this country, and around the world, and I hope we can figure out how to put it all back together again for the better, knowing that silver and gold are here to stay. Hope may be a poor business strategy, but faith can sure as hell be a sound human one.

And for the sake of our kids, and yours, I'm holding on to all the faith I can muster. My girls got my back on that one.

A New Reason to Give Thanks

"And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there..." —The Star-Spangled Banner

The first boom came at 5:28 am. Then a second boom. Followed by a third. I put my laptop to the side and sat up, torn to move in two directions at once: go to the living room window to see what I could see, or go to our phone and call 911.

Being an early bird I had already been up since 5:00 am tinkering away on my MacBook. A fourth boom and I grabbed my phone and went to the window. I could hear the girls talking upstairs; obviously the booms woke them. A fifth boom and then I saw it: the spectacular flower of an exploding firework. Then multiple booms with more reds and whites and blues and a myriad of other colors. 

I aimed the camera to try and capture a firework mid-flower, instead of calling the police, but the booms stopped. I waited, the girls came downstairs (which was around the time they wake up anyway), and the fireworks stopped. 

These weren't just a box of illegal jumbo fireworks bought in Nevada or Mexico. No, these were pretty cool fireworks. Disneyland pretty. The stadium-quality variety. Shot off at 5:28 in the morning for over five minutes down the street in the vacant lot where the local weekly farmer's market is held.

Disruptive? Yes. Annoying? Yes. Pretty? Yes. Dangerous? Maybe, but since they exploded over a vacant lot, probably not. Illegal? Well, yes, considering that fireworks of any kind are illegal in Santa Cruz County. 

The Mama got up shortly after the girls did ask asked what the booms were. I told her and the first thing she said was, "Did they girls get to see them?"

I told her no, that they didn't get to see them. The booms woke them, though. But after we were all up and sunrise yawned and stretched her lavender hands skyward, I reflected and gave thanks with a silent reverent prayer that I had my family with me, safe and sound and healthy, with sustenance and shelter, fairly secure in a seaside community at the South end of the greater Bay Area in the Golden State of one of the greatest nations ever to be created and sustained in the history of the world. A nation of immigrants wanting a better life for themselves, the "huddled masses," to have the freedoms they didn't have in their homelands, whether driven out because of religious and/or political persecution, disease, famine and/or especially war. 

Granted, it was at the expense of those who had already lived her for thousands of years, but that's a story for another time, and not one to be told in any form fully sanitized to validate America's Thanksgiving folklore. 

No, I was just thankful in the moment as I try to do daily reflecting on who I am and what I have, taking little for granted when I'm mindfully present. 

But then the sentiment of a family member interrupted my prayer with an important question, one she posted the day before when referencing a video about the harsh reality of Syrian refugees clamoring for safety in Greece (or insert your Western country of choice here). It was right after my weekly beach run, the one where I share a picture of the remaining natural bridge at Natural Bridges State Park and some creative and cutesy phrase. Of course it was "This week on God Bless everyone beach run."

She had posted:

Imagine this is your family, fleeing for your lives, trying to provide your children with a safe and decent childhood. 

My response was: Amen. But most of us don't want to imagine, so we don't.

Wherever you fall on the ideological and political spectrum, and whatever you believe we should be doing or not doing to address this latest global crisis, most of you will go through your lives unscathed, just as hopefully many of your children and children's children will as well, but as I wrote last week, together the aggregate power of your safety plans may just change the world.

Maybe. But with the rockets' red glare from this morning, to those from this afternoon when my daddy time with the girls turned into a battle of #BhivePower wills (that I lost), the only proof I need is that my home and family are still here with me, and I with them. 

Plus the proof that we still live in the land of the free and the home of the brave. The brave who shouldn't fear but be aware, who shouldn't blame but be responsible, who shouldn't resent but be empathic, who shouldn't hate but still be wary and vigilant to protect country, community and family. The brave who, if they can truly provide their children with a safe and decent childhood, should do just that. 

And maybe, just maybe, we'll give ourselves a new reason to give thanks by helping those fighting for their lives abroad because of war and terrorism, and those fighting for their lives at home because of economic hardship and prolonged hunger.

Happy Thanksgiving America. We know you can do this.

The Part When Freedom Rings

“Alternating currents force a show of hands
Rational responses force a change of plans
Anything can happen…”

—Neil Peart (now an American Citizen, by the way)

The girls listened as we explained why we celebrate the 4th of July.

"Do you know what country we live in?" I asked.

"Santa Cruz," Beatrice answered.

"No, that's the city we live in. The country we live in is --"

"California!"

Not surprising coming from young kids who experience the literal "now" and frame their responses accordingly. Even with the traveling we've done to date, the answer a few weeks ago would've been New York.

We went on to give then a very brief, high-level overview of the United States of America, sans the Revolutionary War for now, but including the fact that it's 239 years old and July 4 is its birthday.

"Is that as old as the world?"

"No, the world is billions of years old."

"Wow," Bea said, not really getting the span of geological time. Bryce had already moved on to something else.

Beatrice will start 1st grade this year and soon will begin the standardized learning of American history and beyond. Thankfully they're both still too young to fully experience the institutionalized crazy American politics has become (and actually always has been), but they are old enough to have experienced community generosity here at home and elsewhere. They've met many decent Americans from diverse backgrounds who are personally responsible citizens. No matter how viscerally frayed, thankfully the fringe on either end doesn't affect the B-hive.

At least, not yet. For the Mama and I, we revel in the fact that we live in a country where we can still "turn the channel" from detrimental viewpoints and content (in our opinion). And we can freely share our own beliefs in live and virtual forums where others can nod in agreement, responsibly disagree, or turn the channel as well. This and voting can be important catalysts for change, although economists argue that our individual votes don't really make a difference, so why do we vote, but individually the aggregate can make for very powerful and inspiring motivation.

We also pride ourselves in staying informed as much as possible, reading reputable "in the middle and a little to the left" mostly objective media outlets and listening to and/or watching the like (for me, that's NPR, hands down), and not simply overreacting when misinformation floods the social channels as it so often does (and I've gotten swept away in more than once).

Being an informed citizen free to agree or disagree, and/or participate or not in the divisive social and political rhetoric, but always participating in the betterment of society through responsible personal leadership, family, community and country and of course inspired action -- that's the part we want to live everyday.

The part when freedom rings and the independence and individuality empowers the rights of others who feel the same. The part we'll continue to celebrate and instill in our girls while negating hate, prejudice and oppression. The part when we acknowledge equality, regardless of sexual preference.

And then there's the reality that, while they may not be able be able to be whatever they want when they grow up, we do still live in a country where opportunity aspires to these ends and there's resiliency in that American economic magic.

Heck, there still may be gold in them thar hills...

The many themes of Independence are flying high

"Um, um, um, red!"

"Okay, let's play with red."

"No -- um, um, um, white!"

"Okay, white."

"No -- um, um, um, blue!"

"Blue it is."

"Um, um, um, make french fries."

"Let's do it, sweetie."

That's us playing with Beatrice and her Cookie Monster Play-Doh food thingie-ma-bob yesterday. She was choosing the Play-Doh colors she preferred to play with, and while I manipulated the colors a little, because we don't really have white, it's been fascinating to witness Bea's word and sentence explosion these past few months as well as her daily awareness of the world around her and her path to independence.

Toddler independence that is. No, she's not driving and she won't be getting her own apartment anytime soon because's she's started grad school, but she is crossing that final length of Baby Bridge to Toddlerville and three years old.

Again, fascinating to be a witness to, to be parents of, to be mentors of, to be students of. (Yikes, and Bryce isn't too far behind not that she's a stumble or two away from walking.)

Play-Doh is a genius maker. Plus, it smells good. (What? You don't think so?) It fires the imagination and is cathartic, for those of stable homes filled with love and security, and for those without, like the kids of domestic violence I've worked with at the Walnut Avenue Women's Center (which is where I made my Picasso-esque Play-Doh face you see here).

While we played with Bea yesterday, I made a snowman witch hybrid out of brown Play-Doh (gross, I know) and Bea looked at it and exclaimed:

"Penguin!"

Right on. The power of imagination.

Tomorrow we're going to Wilder Ranch State Park for an old-fashioned Independence Day and the many themes of independence will be flying high in the sky for me and my family.

The obvious celebration of America's birth and the reveling in individual freedoms, the democratic due process, and beloved expressions like my grandfather's blast from the past, "Hotter than a firecracker on the 4th of July!" [insert what here]

Financial independence, which unfortunately too many of us have taken a backseat to in this post-apocalyptic economic ice age.

Mindful presence and emotional intelligence independence, which takes a lot more work than lip service, but the positive benefits are limitless.

Toddler, teenage and adulthood independence, which share enough collective fireworks to light up the dark corners of the universe.

But Independence Day takes on a whole new meaning when you're dependent on a broken body. Love you, Mom. We'll see you very soon.

Happy 4th of July, Family America. Give yourself a hug, would you? And break out the Play-Doh, too.