Black Lives Matter

This blog is meant to be a place for poop and pee stories, but it’s also a time capsule Elijah and Luca can look back on and know what the world was like when they were growing up.

Right now, the world is…f*cked. 

The Pandemic of racist killing in America spilled over into riots, violence, looting and acts of unbelievable heroism and villainy.

Even in our delightful suburban bubble, windows were smashed, the Best Buy was looted and Diana had a scare in front of everyone’s favorite Froze stand, The Wine Goddess. Diana and I put on masks and marched alongside thousands of Evanstonians who shared stories of intimidation and violence from our very own police.

Our suburban bubble has been weighing heavily on my mind lately. We’ve been clear with the boys about the evils of racism. But it’s just so far away. We live in a temple built of white privilege.  Eli and Luca can ride their bikes without being called names. They can walk through the mall without being followed by security. They’ll never be pulled over, harassed, beaten or murdered because of the color of their skin. They were born into the upper middle class, and by all statistics, they will stay upper middle class their whole lives. 

Luca put a “Black Lives Matter” sign in our window. We give money to the NAACP. We re-tweet messages decrying racism. 

But it’s just not enough. Not even close.

We can’t keep hiding behind our lucky spin of the DNA wheel.

Black lives matter. And it’s my job as a dad to make sure the deaths of so many black sons and daughters aren’t for nothing.