THEY STOOD BY

Dear Spike,

I was 11 years old — a few years younger than you are now — when the protests in Tiananmen Square took place. That moment in history is my first vivid political memory, and I remember feeling quite inspired by the young men and women who were risking everything to demand greater freedom.

I also remember feeling very fortunate to live in a country where people can exercise their right to assemble without risking militaristic reprisals. I felt that way when I was 11, and still when I was 21, and still when I was 31.

Now I am 41, and on the 30th anniversary of the liùsì shìjiàn, I no longer believe that my nation is much different than the nation that quashed those protests in Beijing, all those years ago, for it is happening here, too.
   
Our president has threatened to use the military to quash nationwide protests — the vast majority of which have been very peaceful. He has, in fact, already used military police officers to clear peaceful protesters from the streets in Washington, D.C., so that he could stage a photo op in front of a church that he doesn't attend.

Even before this, though — and even before this president came to power, our nation's police forces had been militarizing for many years, to the point that it is becoming difficult to see the difference between warfighters and law enforcement officers. Wearing kevlar helmets, decked out in fatigues, holding assault rifles, and riding in mine-resistant armored vehicles, the men and women who are supposed to protect our communities increasingly look like occupiers.

There are good people in these uniforms. There are some damn good ones. This is true. Yet there do not appear to be enough good ones to stand up to the bad ones — a fact painfully revealed in the video that ignited these recent protests, in which three police officers stand by as a fourth kneels on a man's neck. The man begged for his life. "I can't breathe" he cried.

Nine minutes later, he was dead.

They stood by. I cannot get over that they just stood by.

But this is not surprising. Just a few weeks ago, in our hometown, it was revealed that an officer who was supposed to help a young woman who came to his department seeking protection instead exploited her. Other officers knew, and they did nothing. They stood by. The young woman, who used to attend church with your grandparents, was later murdered by the man she had begged police to protect her from.

And so it goes. The videos are endless. Police pushing protesters. Police hitting protesters. Police pepper spraying protesters. Police shooting at protesters.

In one video, from Florida, a police officer violently shoves a woman who was kneeling nearby him. Kneeling.

That one is different, though. In it, the officer is immediately and angrily confronted by another officer.

Her name is Krystal Smith. And she would not stand by. She screamed after the officer, chasing after him to dress him down — a strong black woman confronting a pathetic white man.

We don't have to accept brutality and militarization as the cost of doing law enforcement. We don't have to accept that the blue wall of silence is an inevitable and immoveable force. We don't have to live in a world in which what happened in Tiananmen Square, in the capital of China, is repeated in Lafayette Square, in the capital of the United States.

We don't have to stand by.

Love,
dad

STILL A YEAR

Dear Spike,

Today you turned 13.

As I have on every one of your birthdays, I took an inventory of the past year, worried that it would suddenly be moving so very quickly, as everyone has told me it does, more and more, faster and faster, as our children age.

But no. A year is still a year. And thirteen feels as long from twelve as twelve felt from eleven, and eleven from ten, and ten from nine.

Thank goodness for that, for there is nothing from this year I would have wanted to speed through.

Oh, to be certain, it has been a different kind of year, a once-a-century-global-pandemic kind of year. A close-down-schools kind of year. A don't-hug-your-grandparents kind of year. A school-play-has-been-cancelled kind of year. A no-party-for-your-thirteenth-birthday kind of year.

Yes, these things have been hard.

But this moment in our history also forced our family to slow down. We ate three meals together, each day, for months. We baked and baked and baked. We played jigsaw puzzles. We took walks.

So, if there was indeed a risk that the world might finally feel as though it was spinning faster, maybe we beat it back.

And maybe, if and when the world gets back to normal again, we won't be so quick to embrace that normal. Maybe there will be school and soccer and school plays. Maybe you'll get to hug your grandparents again. Maybe, by 14, you'll get to have a birthday party again. I imagine those things are coming soon enough.

But maybe we'll keep trying to eat together more than we did before. Maybe we'll keep baking and baking and baking. Maybe we'll play jigsaw puzzles. Maybe we'll take more walks.

I wouldn't mind any of that. For even though it's never seemed to me as though "it all goes by so quickly," you are a teenager now, and will be an adult soon enough, and even though you will always be our baby, I am keenly aware of just how few years we have left in which you are a child.

And that is OK. I do welcome it. You just keep getting better, after all. So smart. So funny. So passionate. So hard-working. So thoughtful. So scholarly. So tough. So kind. So earnest. So brave.

So you.

So, yes, today you turned 13. And it was a very good day.

Love,
dad

NO SMALL PARTS

Dear Spike:

The middle school production of Newsies was two and a half hours long. You and the other mill girls were on stage for about five minutes. (And by "on stage," here, what I really mean is "on the steps of the stage or in the theater walkways.")

You didn't have any lines, just verses in the chorus. And from where I was sitting, I couldn't even make out your voice.

There are no small parts. Only small actors. And small parents, I suppose, because I would have loved to see you in a bigger role.

Truth be told, I've been a bit annoyed by how much time you've been asked to put into this thing. You had to miss other obligations for all-day Saturday rehearsals, then came home to report that you didn't really do much during those practices. After the first one, you started bringing card games so that you and the other mill girls would have something to do in the hours — hours! — in which you were just sitting around, waiting.

But, as I should have expected, a lot was forgiven when you came into the theater.

Now, I'm no about to tell you that you stole the show, or even a scene. What you did do, though, was what you've taught me to expect of you in every facet of your life: You threw yourself into it. Every little bit of choreography. Every facial expression. Everything that could be mustered by a mill girl singing "Seize the Day," you mustered.

And I think you had fun. Which is the point, after all.

Maybe next year you'll have a bigger role. Maybe you won't. If you're OK with that then I'm OK with that.

Seize the day. Or whatever little part of it you can.

Love,
dad