There’s an oppressive mixture of fear and heartache in our country. The day my youngest daughter turned seven, eleven police officers were shot. Much to the dismay of friends and family, I posted nothing. I refused to acknowledge the horror, not only of that day but of the killings leading up to that horrible, hate-drenched moment. My head isn’t dug firmly in the ground nor is my heart cold and shriveled, quite the opposite.
In fact, it was filled with sorrow as I watched my daughter celebrate her birthday, laughing with abandon and teasing with her friends.
My other daughter, Laura, takes the emotions of others or experiences in front of her and her little mind expands them, one killing becomes a massacre—a broken bottle becomes dozens. When she’s overcome with a bleak, narrow outlook I’ll point out the sunshine. I’ll point out the kind—I’ll do for her what I’ve yet to do for myself. I see a world devoid of love and honesty instead of taking note when my daughter, Hermione carries her sister with a busted ankle to the car. Or Laura doing her sister’s chores while she sleeps. Or the doctor refusing payment. The stranger filling the woman’s gas tank.
There is good in the world, I just need to look for it. I need to Find the Kind.