The best thing I can say for this year is that I haven’t worried about a school shooting in months.
Too dark? I said that was the “best” thing, not the only good thing, jeez. But good lord do we Midwesterners love to look for silver linings. We are a bad news, good news people. We always want to leave on a high note.
In that spirit, I do know of a couple good things to do this week. I’m going to watch geese in great flights make their way from corn field to corn field and from pond to pond. I’m going to add some sugar to my coffee. And I’m going to vote.
I’ve been waiting to cast this vote for four years. I’ve been clenching my fists, and gritting my teeth. Lately, I’ve been calling and writing letters, texting and zooming, trying to do the best that I can. In Wisconsin, dear reader, voting is so easy. There are ways that fools and meddlers have tried to scare us and make it harder for us. But it’s still pretty easy. And a good thing too. Because voting is just the first thing we do.
It’s like the first day of school when the teacher calls your name and you raise your hand and say, “Here.” The vote is the beginning. It’s important, it counts, it is essential to democracy, to our culture.
Culture.
The best definition of that word I have heard is appropriately elusive, yet immediately understandable: Culture is the stuff of a people that, when gone, is missed.
I miss things these days. From Covid, I miss grocery shopping, the library, browsing the bookstore, the bar and game nights. But right now I’m healthier for avoiding them. From Americans, I miss believing we were on the same page about children in cages, rank corruption and white supremacy. I suppose, though I’m sick of it, that I’m also healthier to know this truth: We never agreed.
It’s certain that we won’t agree after the election either. That’s why I’m going to do one more good thing this week. I’m going to take a break. It’ll either be a frustrating sad break, or a hopeful and energizing break. But time to breathe is time to breathe.
We’ll need our breath, we’ll need all our strength. If we’re going to live free and honorable lives as Americans, we must take this moment, plant our feet, brace each other, push together and get this iron horse back on the tracks.
– Micah Clarke
Micah Clarke is a father of two, a husband of one, a son of two, and a brother of one. He draws a lot, paints very little, and writes children’s books. Is a book a book if no one has ever published it? If not, he’s still a draftsman and a very little painter. He likes his eggs over easy, with grits and crispy bacon. And he wants you to know that he’s grateful to you for taking time to read his posts.