See Something, Say Something, Do Something

This is not just my story. It's the story of the other neighbors who stopped to say something and do something. It's the story of the police who showed up to reunite a family in the middle of a global pandemic and protests and riots. It's the story of two young girls, ages 3 and 5 riding their bikes along the shoulder of a busy road. And it's a story about race. Why is it a story about race? Because I live in a town that's almost entirely white, and these two little girls were beautifully brown.

Almost every day around 1 or 2 pm I take a walk around the block with my husband, sometimes the children, and our small 9 pound white dog, Daisy. We live on a 2 lane road, one in each direction, with a double yellow line splitting the lanes. We live in a small town in Maine, just under 9000 residents. The speed limit in our area is 35, except most folks who don't live on this road go faster, 40 for sure. 45 easy. 50 many times. In fact, I've had people pass me on my own road, crossing the double yellow line, because this road is a rural cut through. 

It's beautiful here, the weather, the rural-ness of it. Every day for the last 2 months we've been walking around our triangle block. The block includes 1 block of our road where we walk in the shoulder, one block of a quieter road with a nice large sidewalk, and one block of a very small residential road where walk right down the middle of the street. 

I have 3 children, they are 14, 13, and 11. I don't allow my children to walk on our road without us. It's not safe for children. The cars move fast. At night, I've seen folks going at top speeds, 80, 100, no joke. They fly, often followed by police with their lights on. It's a cut through - a long straight rural road.

On Sunday, May 31, I woke up. We listened to our online church service. We ran errands to the dump. We watched the news of what was happening in large cities across this country and spreading out into the world. I wrote my blog, Black Lives Matter To Me.

I did what I could do and we went for our walk with Daisy around the block.

But this walk was different. As we approached the house to complete the circuit, I heard a clear voice from my behind my leg exclaim, "Excuse me!" This tiny girl on a balance bike and her even tinier little sister on a three-wheeled plastic scouter passed by us, going down our fast busy road. Riding along the shoulder. 

They looked to be about 5 and 3 years old. I later found out I was right about their ages. Spending 10 years teaching creative movement and dance 300 children per week ages 6 months to 12 years old does that to you. You can tell how old a child is by their development and motor skills.

We looked for their parents. There was no one on the road, except us and them and the cars whizzing by. Our long flat straight road. No one except us, the cars, and these two babies. This wasn't right. I knew it. I saw something.

I asked my husband what he thought about it. I just kept saying, "We've never seen them around here. Maybe they're new? Maybe they're lost? Maybe they're visiting someone?" I said something. I spoke what I saw. I said, "This isn't right."

By the time we walked up the driveway, about 2 minutes later, I knew I had to do something. I got my keys, got into our car and drove off to follow the children.

I was scared. I was doing something. I had seen something, said something, and now I was doing something. I was following these two tiny girls I didn't know. I didn't know if I was doing the "right" thing or not, but I decided that the choice to do nothing was far worse than the choice to do something and be wrong about it. I would rather follow these girls to their house and have a parent yell at me for being a crazy stalker lady than learn later these two little girls were hit by a car.

They stopped at the corner of our road and another cut through. Another fast road, but more rural. No shoulder here, a double yellow line splitting the two lanes more narrow than the road before. They looked to be crossing the street from our road to the new road. A man in a pick-up truck coming the opposite direction saw me with my hazards on, he rolled down his window. He screamed his concern at me about these girls. It was the tambour of a parent, I could hear it in his voice. "What are they doing on this road? They shouldn't be on this road!"

I yelled back, "I know! I know! I don't know who they are!" But I was going find out and I knew I was on the right track. 

Now, I knew it wasn't just me and my husband. There were others who felt the same way. I pulled over to ask one of the neighbors who was out gardening near the road, if they knew the two little girls, they didn't know them. In the mean time, three cars had passed me and they all had stopped. The first car, a dark SUV was talking to the two little girls. I pulled up our small Honda Civic along the gravel edge of the road, right behind those bikes. I put the car in park, pulled the emergency handle and got out.

I asked the girls, "Are you lost?" The older girl nodded her head and started to cry. The younger one, didn't even understand. I held her in my arms. I hugged her. I told her it was okay. I told her she was safe now. I told that that we were going to find her parents.

I yelled to folks in the cars to call the police. Another man had pulled his car in behind me and got out, his name was Bob. He called the Yarmouth police and stayed with us the entire time. I stayed with the girls, focusing all my attention on them. More neighbors came out and we got the girls off the street and onto their lawn. 

They brought the girls some ice water, in two small glasses that still seemed huge in their tiny fingers. We sat in the grass and waited. I told them my name. The older girl still had tears in her eyes, and comforted herself by chewing on a long twist of hair. I asked them if they remembered me and my husband and our dog, Daisy. 

"Remember? My little cream dog? And you said, 'excuse me' as you road by." They nodded. They told me they also had a pet named Daisy and dog named something else. I didn't remember the details. I just remember them beginning to calm down. 

The five year old jumped as something flew past her. It was just a butterfly. I told her it was okay. The three year old said, "It wasn't a bee." I picked up the cue and went into teacher mode. Taking my thumb and index finger, I made a bee and started buzzing around. I landed on my nose and went cross eyed. The girls smiled. I landed on the leg of the three year old, and she squealed.

And for a moment, this was normal. A few friends sitting in the grass, in the middle of a global pandemic, in the middle of protests and riots, talking about bugs and pets and grass and wildflowers. I didn't once look up to see what the status was from the cell phones. My attention was just on those girls. They were my whole world for those 10-15 minutes.

It wasn't long. The dad arrived. When they called the police, he had already been there at the station, filing a missing children report. I told the girls not to go run into the road. I told them, let your Daddy come to you. And they did. I stood up when he arrived. I apologized for hugging his children, for touching them, even though I really wasn't sorry at all. I don't remember what he said. I didn't spend much time with him. 

I had been there before, lost a child by accident. Sure, it was only 5 minutes in my case, but it's embarrassing. It wasn't my place to judge him. I didn't know his story. I just wanted to give them privacy.

As I walked away, I heard him question the girls about how they had gotten so far from home. He asked them something about getting their bikes up a big hill. I didn't know what he talking about. I didn't know why he wasn't hugging them, holding them, comforting them, frantic, grateful, emotional. I didn't know why they didn't run to him, wrap their arms around him, cry. 

This wasn't my family. I didn't know their story. It became painful to consider what this unusual reunion meant.

The girls were brown, yes. And the father, he was white. Those were the facts. They said they were expecting their dad, not their mom. Those were the facts. So what? I don't know. Where was the mom? I don't know. As a writer, I want to make something up... a story... the mom she was downtown protesting! The girls, they road off on their bikes, trying to find her. But I knew that was just a story. Had the children been much older, it could have been a Disney movie, with magical creatures coming to life, to assist them along their way - these two girls, heros.

These two girls were bright, smart, and resourceful. They were amazing. They looked out for each other. They had stayed on the side of the road. They didn't talk to strangers. They politely said, "Excuse me" to ride by. They had survived this journey for riding around this small town for hours and hours, miles and miles from home. 

My emotions were building up inside and I didn't want the to stay. I didn't want to stand there and judge this relationship between a father and his children. My perceptions had already begun. I didn't want to stick around and come up with more stories. I did whatever I had to do to ensure those girls were safe. I had done that and I let that be enough. 

*****

I said at the beginning this wasn't just my story. It was the girl's story - of being afraid - of being lost - of being alone - of not knowing who to trust - who is safe? (They never told me their names, because you're not supposed to talk to strangers. So smart! Those girls!) This is the story of the neighbors, who showed up to help, to give shelter and water and call for help, to reunite these girls with their dad. 

This is the story of the police, who did their job, who protected and served. This is the story of that dad, too. Even if I don't know his full story, he went to the police to file the report. He showed up to pick up his children. I can't imagine what was going on inside of him, and I feel like it's none of my business to say anything else. (I'm a parent. I've made mistakes. Enough is enough.)

I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't followed those girls. It's not something I want to imagine. I wasn't the only one who stopped, I tell myself. I wasn't the only one who saw something, said something, and did something. I'm not saying it was because of me they were safe. No way. But I do know that I made sure of it. I followed my heart in the moment and it didn't let me down.

It also confirmed to me, who I am. I wrote it before and I'll write it again: Black Lives Matter. These girls matter. They mattered to me in that moment two days ago. I wasn't going to let them down, even if this world is doing that. Even if it meant, even if I was wrong and they were not as young as I suspected and they were just arriving home to their house, and if their mom or dad had come yelling at me from across the lawn. I would have still done it all over again because that's who I am. 

If I see something, I say something, and then I do something. That's who I am.

SS

****UPDATE: After speaking with a few close friends, all of whom said I should follow my gut on this one, I decided to call the police and express to them my concerns about the "reunion" between the two girls and their father. The Officer I spoke with let me know a few more details - including that the girls had asked to bike to a certain person's house and the dad had said "no." The girls had decided to try and bike there on their own. They were not "lost" at all, but in fact on their way and had almost made it before the concerned group of citizens, myself included, intervened. After the crowd had dispersed, yes, there were tears. Many tears all around. So interesting to know what really happened! Why those girls were riding off into the sunset on their grand and dangerous adventure. Why they didn't go run to their father when he arrived (knowing they had disobeyed him). And why that dad reacted the way he did, at first. So interesting! But honestly, I am so, so relieved. We all are... that the girls were safe and that there was a very good reason why there were no "running into the arms of dad with tears streaming down all their faces" moment. 

Black Lives Matter To Me

And for me, this isn't just about race. It can't be. If we want to see change, we have to look at our "us and them" mentality globally as a human race.

There are so many ways one people decide to make another people "less valuable". It happened to us as Armenians being marched into the dessert for genocide - my relatives murdered and killed for their religion. The Jews and Hitler. Ethnic cleansing, human trafficking, and of course, the incarceration and murder of the black and brown people of this country by those in power - mostly whites and mostly men. And even before that, the destruction and massacre of the indigenous people of the Americas. And the issue is not just the people doing the crimes, it's also the people complicit with what's going on.

I stand with the movement - Black Lives Matter. And I also stand with and for our humanity. To me, these things are not in conflict. I stand for women, for immigrants, for children, for men and women who are raised to be animals themselves perpetuating this cycle of discrimination and violence. For anyone who does not see me as their sister, as their equal in this human race. I stand for love.

Who stood for us? When we saw women who faced their accusers and had their lives ruined while those men - those old white men - stayed in power and were celebrated for "grabbing a pussy" if they felt like it? Guess, what... I can be angry, yes, but I can also know that the path to change is through compassion and understanding. We are broken, yes. But we can't fix a broken ankle by breaking someone else's wrist. All that does is cause more broken things.

I hope that we can move forward as a people, all of us --- all of us --- with compassion, love and understanding. We have to stop the cycle of hatred and that means, yes, you have to show love and compassion to those who would not do the same for you.

You cannot teach someone love by hating them. It doesn't work. It never has. Also, you can't just say it's about "one thing" - sorry it's not. It's not just about sex, race, religion, economics, it's about all of that. It's about power. The ones who have it and the ones who don't. It's about control. The ones who have it and the ones who don't. If you say to yourself, "I'm better than this person because...(fill in the blank)" then you have work to do on yourself, because in that moment you have created the separation. You have created the "us and them" mentality that is the root of all of this disease, this pain, this suffering that goes on in the world.

Until you can see your neighbor - truly all of our neighbors, as ourselves, to show love and compassion - until we are there, all of us - humanity will not be at rest. Humanity will not be free from these chains and bonds of racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, religious bigotry. We are not free, not yet. And we never have been. We have never been free - out there in the world - that judges us, discriminates against us, makes us wrong for speaking up.


But there is peace and there is freedom. It's not out there at all. It's inside. It's the only place it truly exists. In your heart, in your mind, in your emotions. It's a sad world out there, right now, it's sad... but at least, I know... Inside myself... I can find that garden, that place of peace and freedom.

God bless us all. (And if you don't believe in God, that's ok with me. Instead I would say: May you find peace and love in your heart. Because to me that means the same thing as what I just wrote.)

SS

When I Fall In Truth

There are two things I want to share - both about "the truth." But as a preface, to be abundantly clear, I don't believe much in Truth (with a capital "T" Truth). That much is constant in my life... been writing about the illusion of Truth since I was 12... some things never change!

The first.... someone made a joke on Social Media... (smile) Yes. I smile when I think about social media.

A friend of mine. He thought it was funny. I thought it was misogynistic and ignorant. Now, that's a challenge point. His truth was: funny.  My truth was: offensive, sexist, obscene. My truth about him: he's a funny guy, who is also thoughtful and sensitive and kind and inviting. But how could this guy be both - live in both worlds? Kind and sexist? Funny and offensive? Inviting and close-minded? Does that truth exist? Do those dichotomies exist?

This is a happy ending (and not just because that was the butt of his joke, misspelling on purpose here)... I spoke up. I let him know that I thought his joke was "off." He asked, honestly, why? He didn't get it. A few folks tried to explain it to him, but he still didn't get it. I sat back and watched, for a moment. I watched. I knew I had a choice to make.... walk away, let it go, give up. Or try... try to communicate this to him in a way that he could, perhaps understand where I was coming from. I did that. I reached out. I invited him to do some market research on the subject. I invited him not to take my word for it, but to seek counsel from others who may also have another point of view to offer him. We're friends on Facebook, but maybe there's someone else in his life, who he trusts who might be able to offer him understanding. And I then I did one more thing.... I made a comparison, a real-life comparison. I took it out of realm of the absurd and took it right into real world, real life.

See it's easy to make fun of something we can't see, we can't make real, but when it's right there, in your backyard, it's hard to ignore the word and their implications.

I don't know what brought him around, whether it was market research, my real-life comparison OR maybe, just maybe it was my compassion for HIM. I didn't attack him. I told him how I felt by what he shared. I told him that his words had power and he could choose how to express himself.

I'm going to pull out the soap box for just a minute here: This is what I find, each day, completely devastating... that people cannot show compassion to one another. Especially to those who are looking at the world "up-side-down" from our view.... (hint-hint, we're up-side-down to them, too!) How do we find common ground? How do we see the beach ball as multicolored and not just black or just white or just blue or just red?

The second, example, Truth - that thing that doesn't exist...  Headlines.... and articles. The headline states from the NYT: University of California Will End Use of SAT and ACT in Admissions. My friend, on social media, shares the headline - so happy, so excited that they are going to end these tests. The tests that people cheat on. The tests that some kids can't afford. The tests that privileged kids can get expensive tutors to pass. The tests that are biased towards white people. Yeah, those tests! Down with the tests! My friend, so happy, based on the headline. I read the article. Yeah, it says those tests are "so bad" but what it also says, towards the end, this tiny little line, a little tidbit of information.... the California schools are planning to create their OWN tests. Why? Money. So they can make money off the kids, instead of SAT or ACT. And guess what? That's going to make it even harder for kids - because not only will they have to still take the SAT or the ACT for other colleges, now they would have to take some new test. A new test that they would also have to pay for....

Interesting, huh? Do they want to get rid of the tests because they are unfair? Or because they see it as an opportunity to make money creating their own entrance and admission tests?

What is the truth/Truth?

It's hard to see, most of the time. It's hidden and hard to find. You have to read more than just the headlines. And then, you have to read some more. Between this view, that view, up-side-down, right-side-up, sideways and backwards, flipped over and over, until you are dizzy, and you may vomit. Yes. The Truth might do that to you, too...

Maybe falling in truth is like falling in love or like falling into the deepest sense of your Self, a knowing, a trusting, something... Maybe it's different for each person? A resolution, a purpose, a drive, a clarity, a consuming of all essence and beingness?


But when you find it. When you fall into it... When find yourself in it, deeply, act... speak up, with compassion and understanding for all of those folks who aren't in that well with you, that is the moment where you can effect change, create a respectful dialogue and open doors of perception for those in your influence.

It's a responsibility, I think, to create greater "good" in this world. You don't have to do it. But the world would be pretty awesome, says me, if we all did.

I once thought to myself, what would I do if I knew a skinhead: a racist, homophobic, woman-hater? Would I run away? Would I hate them back? Would I call them names? What would I do? I know this example online is just a small example, but for me, it's so clear. I would seek to share my Truth with them. I would seek to connect with them. I would treat them like a human being, like I would want to be treated.

That's my Truth.

SS