When I was a child, I used to love making paper snowflakes. You know, where you fold the paper all up and cut out notches, and then when you unfold – voila! I taught my kids, I wonder if they even remember in their sad everything-sucked kind of memories, but yes we made things. We painted on rocks and baked cookies and made snowflakes, and each one was its own little world and perfect. I love snowflakes.
And apparently I am one, too. I’m the person whose despair delights those MAGA winners on Twitter. I’m the tender-hearted fool who literally does think the well-being of others is worth more than a new car or fancy house of my own. I mean, I do have a fairly new car, it’s a 2013 Fit, but it runs like new and I will drive it into the dust like I did with my last car. I make pretty decent money for someone who was out of the workforce for 9 years. And I do have a decent (albeit un-fancy) house. Still, it’s a roof over our heads, and we can afford dog food for our two grown dogs and the new puppy. (Yes yes, we foster-failed on this last puppy, a combination of our broken hearts and the fact that we can. How lucky are we, that we can afford another rescue dog?) But what the hell more do I need that’s more important than helping people who weren’t born with a fraction of my privilege? Why does believing people should all have basic rights and a level playing field make me a loser?
Eh, don’t bother answering that – I don’t care. I’m sick of the name calling and the ugliness and the “winning” that seems to only consist of enjoying watching others fall. How long can it sustain itself, I wonder? How long does a (disturbed, yes, messed-up, get that child help!) child need to pull the wings off of flies or scorch ants with a magnifying glass? How many sandcastles does the bully need to knock over before he just decides he wants a sandwich and maybe a little telly time? I’m so bored already. The once-fresh snow of this political climate change has turned to black piles on the side of the road, full of exhaust, an eye-sore.
But whatever. I’m proud of my sensitivity, although it’s been used against me and can get a bit over the top at times. I mean, crying at animated movies bad. Yeah, I’m a snowflake, but I think you are too. And you know, this flake wants us all to win. My winning will only be sullied by the losing of others. I won’t be cheering when they drag the liars and the cheats out of their towers. I mean, I’ll be relieved as hell, and drinking champagne, but I won’t attend the hangings (this is just a METAPHOR, no need to alert the CIA). There’s no joy in any of this conflict for me. Some days it’s all I can do to focus on survival. But when I can, I’m going to keep trying to help people in the small ways, to spread a little kindness (that’s right, without even asking what side you’re on). I think that’s part of resistance, to stare down the ugliness and not become one with it. I believe we can do better, and I’m still willing to try. You can help too – let’s get our flaky on.