We got Princess Care Bear in the Christmas draw this year. We got her a chef outfit and a cookbook. She squealed with glee and immediately asked to put on the hat. It makes an aunt's heart full when all the research into gifts goes well.
But there's this other thing on our calendar for tomorrow. I'm not talking about the appointment for my hair or the conference call. No, tomorrow is, sadly, inauguration day.
When I think about how I want this world to be for Princess Care Bear, I want it to be a place where she's free to be her best self, where she can walk down the street without fear, where she can count on a job (maybe a chef!) where she is paid the same as a man, without concerns of harassment or casual groping, and where she is loved and appreciated just for being her. But when I think about what this inauguration day stands for, I worry for her. I worry for all the children, I worry for those who are already on the margins of society, and I worry for those who WANTED this day to happen. I worry, I fret, and I am already tired of the fear and sadness.
So tomorrow I'm going to be celebrating. I will. But it won't be a celebration of a peaceful transfer of power, it won't be a celebration of hatefulness and short-shortsightedness, and it won't be a celebration of a republican form of government I have historically taken pride in. It will be a celebration of a tiny three-year-old with a giant smile, endless giggles, and a dream for her future.