I brought my eight-year-old to school this morning. Her school is the neighborhood public school, and one we’re very happy with. Its student demographics happen to be 84% nonwhite. We live in Maryland, which is a blue state, in a pretty liberal-leaning suburb of Washington DC, and my Facebook bubble confirms that Trump supporters are few and far between just here.
Outside the school someone had put up hand-drawn signs – just sheets of paper and red marker – all along the handrails where the kindergarteners and first graders line up. There were two on the doors where the upper grades enter. I didn’t go around the side to where my second grader goes in, but I bet there were some there too. There were a couple stuck to the lamppost opposite where kids get out of cars in the drop-off line.
The signs said “YOU ARE SAFE” and “YOU ARE LOVED.” With big red love-hearts.
This was the thing that made me cry, finally. These flapping, rained-on pieces of paper brought a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes.
Someone – a staff member or a parent, I don’t know which – knew that children might be coming to school this morning worried, upset, concerned about the news. Afraid that they might have to live somewhere else. Afraid that people don’t like them because of their religion or the color of their skin or maybe the fact that they have two moms. Afraid because they’ve seen their parents crying or angry or disbelieving over the news this morning, maybe saying more in the heat of the moment than they really should have said in front of the kids, who always take in more than we think they do.
And that person did something about it. Hastily, with nothing more than paper and a marker, and a few minutes, they made a difference.
I love that this was done. I hate that there was a need for it. I still think love trumps hate. I think it always will. Hate is fear with a tinge of anger. Love is just love. Let’s keep spreading the love, not the hate.