In the weeks since the Women's March swept through cities across the globe I've found myself reflecting on it almost daily. My initial resolve to attend the March in DC when it was announced quickly began to deflate when the realities of airfare, limited hotels and adult responsibilities began to set in. Feeling down, I immediately rallied at the announcement of the marches happening in cities across the US, including Denver. As the march neared, it seemed more and more likely that my husband's flight home would be delayed and I would be toting three kids, including a toddler, along with me and I'll admit, it felt very daunting. But then, the skies parted and he found a flight that would put him home in the very early morning hours of Saturday and relieved, I put my two oldest boys (10 and 6) to work crafting their signs.
As we thought of sayings that were impactful and meaningful to us personally, lots of hilarious phrases found their way to the cutting room floor, including my favorite, "I had to get up early on a Saturday morning to march for you dumb girls." :) Ultimately, we each found something to say that we felt could, in some tiny way, reflect how we felt about the current ails of our country.
The morning of the march my eldest felt hesitant and a little put out, giving lots of subtle hints that he would not be heartbroken in the least to sit this one out. As I began to waffle about how much I should pep talk him into the car, my husband assured me that going was the right choice - even if he sulked the entire time, it was a moment not to be missed and an important initiation into the new world order that his generation is being forced to inherit. They will not be afforded the luxury of indifference and ignorance that we kids of the '80s and '90s enjoyed. And while we've made every effort to shield them from the majority of current political nonsense, fairness and justice for all is a message that all kids can get behind (thank you, Harry Potter!) so why not ease them into activism in the most positive and supportive way possible?
Once we had filled our car with our lovely neighbor, Alison and our friends Robyn, Piper and Sophie, the atmosphere turned much more festive. As we passed packed bus stop after packed bus stop en route to downtown, the kids waved and cheered more loudly to the small groups waiting - excited, pussy hats on, a cup of something warm in one hand, a sign in the other. When we drove past the assembling crowd at the park on our way to meet friends, one of the kids had made a comment about Donald Trump and we had all reiterated that this march was not about that - it was about the building of something much bigger, not the tearing down of someone. He was not on today's agenda. And just then, as if on cue, a twenty-something walked in front of our car hoisting a sign that read, "Impeach the Cheeto" above a very impressive likeness of Trump, complete with Cheeto hair. We all laughed and agreed that despite what we'd just discussed, that was objectively funny. Then we were back to the high road.
By the time we met up with other friends and began our walk downtown the air felt more and more surreal. I couldn't see the storefronts and traffic on Colfax, only the fellow marchers, in all shapes, sizes and colors, that trooped to Civic Center Park all around us. At one point, I had a moment of realization, "Wow. This must be what football fans feel like at the Superbowl."
Later I would hear from friends that they had avoided the march with their young children because they feared the potentially aggressive nature of the crowds, the crudeness of the signs...but it really was not like that at all. Once we joined the mass at the park, the air was humming with positivity and excitement. Finally, after all these weeks of frustration, anger, fear and uncertainty we were doing something! Even if we were only standing around, ogling the thousands of signs, feeling the crowds grow and swell all around us, it was something. It was camaraderie, reassurance and exhilaration. The longer we stood, the more restless the kids became and we took turns doling out snacks and assuring them that we would, at some point, start actually marching. Every 15 or 20 minutes, a cheer would erupt from the crowd somewhere up ahead of us and a jolt of electricity would make it's way to us where we would jump up and down in excitement, "This is it! Here we go!" But no. We could not figure out why we weren't moving - the 15 feet we would shuffle every 10 minutes or so did not cut it for the kids, or for us. As we discussed alternate routs, future planning, etc in the way that only a large group of women can, we saw a stream of people begin to break away and circumvent the Denver Post building to meet up with the marchers a few blocks down. We quickly jumped into the moving crowd and felt reenergized. We would later find out that the severe traffic jam was caused by the more than 200,000 people who congregated that day, rather than the 10,000 that were initially projected, the entire city seemingly covered in a sea of pink that would have made Shelby from "Steel Magnolias" awfully proud.
At some point, one of the kids mentioned donuts and once we had "marched" for a few blocks and done some math to calculate what time we needed to be on the road for afternoon activities, we decided that they'd gotten a sufficient dose of Fighting the Man and headed for VooDoo Doughnuts, the kids no longer limply dragging their signs, but waving them high over head to the chant of, "What do we want? DONUTS! When do we want 'em? NOW!" Next door to VooDoo Doughnuts, the awesome ladies bar, Blush 'n Blu, was collecting signs to display on the walls and we proudly forked ours over, all hands free to hold coffee and doughnuts as we made it the rest of the way to the car. I'll forever remember that day as a turning point in politics and activism - America's and my own - and be grateful for the dear friends we took to the streets with.
During the march I was reminded of the insane power a collective shift in energy can bring and laugh if you will, it took me right back to my raver days, a sudden, life-changing epiphany striking me as I danced my heart out in my usual place at the speaker on the right of the DJ booth. The march was both medicine and motivation. It was also, contrary to its billing - not solely a women's march, a Tawanda-induced fervor of angry women ovulating and succumbing to hot flashes. It was a celebration and a stand for women and all who know them, love them and see their vital necessity in this world. Not just as vessels for birthing children or objects of sexual desire, but as the slow fires and the nurturers of this universe. We may not always have the answers but we know how to listen, we genuinely care...and we're also really fucking smart. As a friend later commented, every type of underwear humanly possible was represented at those marches, from diapers to Depends and everything in between.
Later that day, as we hustled to a soccer tournament, I found myself alone in the car with a momentarily introspective 10-year-old. "I"m so glad I went today," he said. I told him I was glad, too. "And," he added, "I really liked it. Which is good, because I think we'll be doing things like this a lot more." Indeed you will.
