I still mother them….

Today I am grateful for my mom. She raised me to be a strong woman, a bossy leader, and my own person. She taught me to speak my mind, stand my ground, and think for myself. And after what I have been reading since the election, I am especially grateful that she raised someone who doesn’t feel threatened by people who don’t look like me, pray like me, or live like me.

I am so over the fearmongering, the homophobia, and the obsession with how other people live. Transgender, nonbinary, gay, straight—as long as they’re not crawling into bed with you, why do you care? How does somebody else being who they are stop you from being who you are? People are spending so much energy looking for something to be offended by, something to fear, somebody to blame. And frankly, I am angry.

I saw a meme about requiring children to learn Arabic numerals. You know, 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. The numbers we already use. It was a joke, but it made me think about how quickly people will react to a word without understanding what they’re reading. Put “Arabic” next to something, and suddenly ordinary math sounds threatening. For the love of God, take a minute to understand something before you help spread it.

When my grandparents came here, Italians were looked at as less than. Catholics were treated as dangerous outsiders because of their faith. Right here in Philadelphia, anti-Catholic mobs burned churches and attacked homes. Think about the Salem witch trials, when accusations of witchcraft led to innocent women and men being hanged. Fear, suspicion, and the certainty that somebody different must be dangerous have cost enough people their lives. You would think we would have learned something.

I work with a Muslim woman who is one of the kindest, hardest-working people I know. And the hugs? Some of the best you will ever get. Never once have I looked at her and thought her religion made her someone to fear. I see how she treats people. I see how she works. I know the person she shows up as every day.

One of my best friends is Hindu. The Benedictine nuns who taught me in school frequently used the expression “the hands and feet of Jesus.” My friend doesn’t share my belief in Jesus, but she exemplifies what those nuns were teaching us. I watch her give her time, her energy, and her heart to people who need help. If you want to know what being the hands and feet of Jesus looks like to me, it looks a whole lot like my Hindu friend showing up for someone who has nothing to give her in return.

One of the most charitable men I know—I couldn’t even tell you what his faith is. But when somebody needs something, I pick up the phone, call him, and he makes it happen. During one of the darkest times in my life, I looked outside and he was cutting my grass. Nobody asked him. He didn’t know I was taking a picture. He wasn’t waiting for recognition or applause. Something needed to be done, and he did it. That is who he is as a human being.

Meanwhile, some of the worst behavior I have witnessed has come from Bible thumpers who hide behind their faith while judging everybody else. People whose good deeds always seem to come with something in it for them. Quoting Scripture doesn’t erase how you treat people. I care about what you do when someone needs you, especially when helping them offers you absolutely nothing in return.

And honestly, does anybody think any president, vice president, or senator gives a flying fat fuck about you if you aren’t lining their pockets? Because I think you’re putting your faith in the wrong place. We spend hours defending politicians and attacking each other while overlooking people in our own neighborhoods who could use us right now.

Instead of spreading fear, worry about doing something for the person next to you. Worry about the things you can control. Where are you going to volunteer? How are you going to help your neighbor? Who needs groceries, a ride, or somebody to listen? Who is sitting inside their house, overwhelmed by life, while their grass keeps growing? You don’t have to share someone’s religion, politics, or identity to recognize that they need a hand.

A post I made today was removed after someone reported it. So let me be clear: I am going to continue talking about the things that matter to me. I will continue talking about Senate Bill 249 and supporting harm reduction. I will continue talking about the DISEASE of addiction, the people living with it, the people in recovery, and the people we have buried. If you think this disease is a moral failing on my part or on the part of my two children who died, please unfriend me. I am going to keep fighting for people to stay alive, because dead people don’t recover.

If you don’t like the things I talk about, you are free to leave. My village is big enough. I do not need your homophobia, your hatred, or your determination to turn everyone different from you into an enemy anywhere in the orbit of my world. Since the election, I have seen posts from people I thought I knew, and I have realized that knowing someone for years does not mean I need to keep their energy in my life.

I can be grateful and angry on the same day. Today, I am both. Grateful for the people whose goodness I get to witness. Angry at how easily people dismiss that goodness over a label. Somebody not looking like you or believing what you believe does not make them the devil. If you are worried about people dividing this country, stop helping them do it.

More than anything, I am grateful for my mother, who taught me to stand my ground and be my own person. She raised me to speak my mind, and I am standing right here.