This morning, she arose early, went downstairs to pack lunches, and was surprised by the youngest gingerbread boy padding downstairs in his red jammies, gently holding a creation of paper, glue, and glitter that has been languishing in his room for days. He held it out to her with such pride and such love. "Happy Valentine's day, Mommy! I made this for you!" What sweeter gift is there than a piece of newsprint, heavy with the contents of six vials of multicolored glitter, each piece reflecting facets of unimaginable love.
Each morning, you stand by the window watching your boys until they're on the bus or picked up. You watch them leave your circle of safety and hope for the best. You can't know what that day will bring. Nothing, maybe. Or maybe a bomb threat. Maybe a math test. Maybe a lockdown drill. Or maybe a real lockdown. But on this day, there is something different. A rally. A walk-out. A demonstration. Your oldest son asked if you'd call to have him dismissed and bring him downtown to attend the demonstration. You want your voice to be heard, and even more, you want your son's voice to be heard, so you call the school, you pick him up, you drive downtown. You don't know what to expect, but the reality makes you weepy. A crowd of teenagers, many carrying hand-drawn signs stand gathered in front of the church, chanting. Adults congregate around the edges. A band plays, keeping time for the chants. Horns honk as their drivers show support. One man in a truck wags his fi...
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