Liz Marsh

Dear James and Lulu,

I am so sorry.

I am sorry that we let you down. I am sorry that we just gave the highest office in the land to a racist, sexist xenophobe. I’m sorry we elected a bully to be the president of the United States. I’m even more sorry that we told you it would never happen.

I was so proud about how involved you were in this election. Lulu, I keep thinking about our conversation during the Democratic Convention, how excited we were for a woman president. I wanted so badly for you to get to see that.

On election night, there was a point where I realized what was happening, and I couldn’t stop crying. It was perhaps the first time I had truly considered the outcome. In the midst of my own grief, I saw you all looking at me. I felt helpless.

My friends and I came of age before and immediately after Sept. 11. We watched the world as we knew it change before our eyes. I remember sitting on the edge of my dad’s desk crying. I wanted him to tell me what it all meant. What would happen next. I saw that same uncertainty in your eyes on election night.

You know why we are afraid and uncertain. Incidents of violence and hate are already on the rise. And although that’s where my fear for this country exists, it’s also, because of you, where I see potential for hope.

You are both such kind and thoughtful people. I know that you won’t stand by if someone is being mistreated. I know that you will stand up for what you believe is right. You are the future of this country, and for that, I am grateful.

We will have a lot of battles over the next four years. The adults around you will always fight for you, for the best possible world that we can give to you. But we will also look to you to fight.

You must continue to educate yourselves about our government and how it works. Understand why it’s important to defend the rights of all Americans, regardless of color or creed. Reach out and work with others to create a kinder world and a healthier planet.

In four years, you both will be able to vote. So get out there, make your voices heard, shine your light.

In the words of my brilliant friend Rebecca, “Fire it up, my babies.”

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