March for Our Lives

The young people are pissed. In the absence of leadership from the Baby Boomers and my generation, they are leading a movement. Tired of active shooter drills, of fear, of "thoughts and prayers" from our politicians, they are taking to the streets, the Capitol buildings, and the voting booths.

Aden and I went with some of the faithful group of Willow Creek activists to participate in the March for Our Lives. It was her first packed-light-rail, street-filling-bodies, signs-waving march; it was my fifth in a little over a year.

Our students' lives, our fellow citizens' lives - these are more important than just about anything else. The frothy-mouthed frenzy of just a few have pulled this debate so far to an extreme that we had lost sight of this, had lost sight of hope.  But we must have hope, and we must work to find and implement a solution, or our friends and neighbors will pay the price.

I wavered between tears and determination yesterday. As we got on the light rail, a mom got on with her child carrier on her back and a little boy affixed to each hand. They chattered to us about classmates who were "getting a new baby sister," how much they liked juice boxes, where they could find a potty at the march.  The six-year-old carried a sign that said, "Am I Next?"

We have let this go too far, too long. Our country is at war with itself and our children are suffering. It's time to vote, send money, vote, protest, vote and demand that the United States protects us and our children, and stops gun violence.