Today, I tutored a four-year-old child who asked me to help her draw a dolphin like the one in the book we had read . Then, she told her mother that she wasn't ready to go home yet, so we all sat down together for a moment longer.
Today, a four-year-old child was separated from her mother by a man with a gun. They weren't given a moment for explanations about where they would go.
Today, the mother of my four-year-old student took a photo of a library list of recommended books that I showed her. She asked what I thought about her daughter's phonemic awareness. I talked to her about brain development and readiness to learn.
Today, a four-year-old child couldn't understand the language of her prisoners. She had no idea when she would be allowed to see her mother again.
In two days, I leave for a short vacation. Before that, I'll bring my dog to board at the place where he's boarded since he was a pup. When we arrive, my dog will greet the people who take him back to the kennel with a song as he leans into their legs and rubs his head against them. They'll sink to their knees to say hello. He'll lie down in a kennel padded with blankets, toys, and a dog bed. Later, he'll run with other dogs and play with his keepers twice a day. He'll eat his usual expensive food and any treats I leave with him. I'll find new photos of him leaping in the air with friendly dogs on my Facebook page.
In two days, a Senator might get inside the warehouse to see that the four-year-old child who was separated from her mother is being contained by a chain-link enclosure with concrete floors. There is a bed but no mattress. The 'blankets' given to the children are made of plastic and foil. What is she eating? Is she allowed time outside the kennel to stretch, exercise, and see the sunshine? She might be allowed to watch a television through the chain-link fence. Is there anything else to play with, to comfort her?
On our trip, no one at TSA will question my son's right to stay with us. They'll ask him some question about where he wants to go and we'll move together through the line without fanfare. The worst thing that might happen is that I lose the salad dressing for my salad because it's in an unmarked container. My husband and my son will tease me for making it from scratch again. It might take us twenty minutes to get through the line. While we wait for our flight, my son will dig through his big backpack full of games, books, and movies to keep him occupied on the airplane. He'll get to sit by the window and look out.
For as long as forty-five days, the fate of the four-year-old child will hang in the balance. During that time, permanent damage will happen to her brain affecting her ability to learn and her ability to cope with minor disturbances in her life. She might develop PTSD, anxiety, depression.
I read once that most Germans couldn't imagine the atrocities that were happening to Jewish children as long as their own lives seemed so ordinary. This is the crossroads at which we wait.
My life in my neighborhood is ordinary, calm, loving, cheerful.
People in my country are being forcibly separated from their children because they had the audacity to come here and ask for asylum. They are not told where their children will go or when they might see them again.
It makes me feel sick to my stomach to think I could condone this by continuing to live my quiet life. My silence could condone it. I won't condone it, but am I doing enough to fight? Am I speaking out, acting out, protesting loudly enough? What am I willing to give up to make my stand?
What are you willing to do to stop this madness?
Thank you for listening, jules
Today, a four-year-old child was separated from her mother by a man with a gun. They weren't given a moment for explanations about where they would go.
Today, the mother of my four-year-old student took a photo of a library list of recommended books that I showed her. She asked what I thought about her daughter's phonemic awareness. I talked to her about brain development and readiness to learn.
Today, a four-year-old child couldn't understand the language of her prisoners. She had no idea when she would be allowed to see her mother again.
In two days, I leave for a short vacation. Before that, I'll bring my dog to board at the place where he's boarded since he was a pup. When we arrive, my dog will greet the people who take him back to the kennel with a song as he leans into their legs and rubs his head against them. They'll sink to their knees to say hello. He'll lie down in a kennel padded with blankets, toys, and a dog bed. Later, he'll run with other dogs and play with his keepers twice a day. He'll eat his usual expensive food and any treats I leave with him. I'll find new photos of him leaping in the air with friendly dogs on my Facebook page.
In two days, a Senator might get inside the warehouse to see that the four-year-old child who was separated from her mother is being contained by a chain-link enclosure with concrete floors. There is a bed but no mattress. The 'blankets' given to the children are made of plastic and foil. What is she eating? Is she allowed time outside the kennel to stretch, exercise, and see the sunshine? She might be allowed to watch a television through the chain-link fence. Is there anything else to play with, to comfort her?
On our trip, no one at TSA will question my son's right to stay with us. They'll ask him some question about where he wants to go and we'll move together through the line without fanfare. The worst thing that might happen is that I lose the salad dressing for my salad because it's in an unmarked container. My husband and my son will tease me for making it from scratch again. It might take us twenty minutes to get through the line. While we wait for our flight, my son will dig through his big backpack full of games, books, and movies to keep him occupied on the airplane. He'll get to sit by the window and look out.
For as long as forty-five days, the fate of the four-year-old child will hang in the balance. During that time, permanent damage will happen to her brain affecting her ability to learn and her ability to cope with minor disturbances in her life. She might develop PTSD, anxiety, depression.
I read once that most Germans couldn't imagine the atrocities that were happening to Jewish children as long as their own lives seemed so ordinary. This is the crossroads at which we wait.
My life in my neighborhood is ordinary, calm, loving, cheerful.
People in my country are being forcibly separated from their children because they had the audacity to come here and ask for asylum. They are not told where their children will go or when they might see them again.
It makes me feel sick to my stomach to think I could condone this by continuing to live my quiet life. My silence could condone it. I won't condone it, but am I doing enough to fight? Am I speaking out, acting out, protesting loudly enough? What am I willing to give up to make my stand?
What are you willing to do to stop this madness?
Thank you for listening, jules
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