Fall 2025

It’s been a while Elephant Journal, and I’ve missed you. So, here is a tale of a day in my life.

The vibe in my town was off today. I did not feel safe. And I usually do…

I can’t even describe the way I was seen today but let me try:

When Finn and I took our walk around town today, I started to notice weird little things. Looks of disgust as if I was a hobo with my—well-dressed and clean—latchkey baby.

Was it the colorful hair tied into space buns? Or the shirt depicting a play on the “black death”? Maybe. Was I hot and over caffeinated?

Definitely.

But I met everyone with a smile, complimented strangers, and was calm and friendly to staff. I was kind, and my child—my beautiful, innocent, sweet child—didn’t get one smile from a single silver-haired stranger, And he’s always getting smiles and hellos.

Today he got grimaces; we had people look at us as if we were vermin.

Classism.

Because I was not dressed like them. Because I was not one of them. Because I was an “other.”

Intersectionality still existed here in the coffee shop, however they were divided, even amongst the common thread of warm pastries and coffee beans (a hard feat).

No one acknowledged the other. No one even so much as gave a second glance, for the most part.

I heard murmurs of “Duck, Duck, Go” from a group in what I can only assume was a work meeting. Amongst the old, silver haired ladies celebrating a birthday, they paused to glance as I entered the room, but only for a moment. I complimented their accidental matching outfits and got a polite response, but not much else.

My kindness and compliments were met with staunch indifference. I was othered today—in a coffee shop.

Just give me my matcha and I’ll see myself out.

I’m struggling with the safety of my family, of my beliefs and the want of resistance. I wish I didn’t have to choose between society and my duty to my family. The duality of being in our family and also existing in the world. My activism and my life beyond that. They converge and diverge, and I need to find a way to separate them but I can’t disconnect from either. And I don’t want to. It’s hard.

My sweet boy deserves a world without this paranoia—and I know it’s a bit of that, my own perception. But, perception is our reality sometimes.

We (my family) hold more privilege than most. We are white. I’m straight passing. (Sometimes lol.)

But it’s not about me.

What they want is this feeling. For us to feel small and few.

But we aren’t.

We are many, in fact more than them. They just hold the coin purse.

I am a weed.

I should not run. And I won’t. I will grow and learn and force my way through the crags and creases of dusty, weathered pavement, until I have bloomed in the sun—a glorious weed. Unkempt? Maybe. Not traditionally attractive or sought after? Sure. Stamped out historically and stifled of growth?

Since the day I was born.

And I will continue to be kind to strangers and soft in heart. But I am also resilient and strong. And you won’t get rid of me.

We are the people. And we will rise.

We are weeds, you and I. And they won’t get rid of us.

And we will continue to be kind to strangers and soft in heart. But we are also resilient, and strong. Why? Because if we aren’t, we surrender. We give up the fight. We leave our humanity and empathy and everything we worked for as Americans behind us and devolve into nothing more than common apes.

History tends to repeat itself, but it doesn’t have to. We deserve better. We have to fight for better.

It wasn’t always like this, and it won’t always be this way.

Stay alive. Stay here. You deserve to be here. We deserve to be here. We matter. And we won’t be silent. And you won’t get rid of us. We are the people, and we will rise.

Anyway, I’m gonna go take a shower and wash away my sins. I hope everyone is having the best day they can. Check on your loved ones.

~