Wake-up Call

By now, everyone has their “day after” story. Mine started with a 3 a.m. text from my daughter saying, “How could this happen?” I texted back, “Please call me.” I was awake anyway, having been up for hours and unable to get to sleep. I happened to be in California on a business trip and had watched the election results come in with my colleagues. We started the evening at a local pizza place with a TV hung in the corner, next to which was a framed Cubs jersey -- a symbol to us of a hopeful outcome. The five of us sat at the table, gripping each other while we watched the map go red, and the opportunity to elect a female president go dark. Three of us were Americans, all descended from immigrants. One of us was from Ireland; one from Hungary. All of us were in disbelief.

As the evening wore on, and the reality of the situation hit, all I could think about was how I was going to explain this to my children. I was already upset that I couldn’t be home with them on the East Coast as they watched the results come in, and we exchanged a few calls and texts earlier in the evening. I told my 9-year-old son that he had to go to bed by 9:30 p.m.(EST) because staying up and watching was not going to change anything. I told my almost 14-year-old daughter that she had to go to bed by 10:30 p.m. as I could hear the stress and worry in her voice. They had both been extremely plugged into the campaigns and election in their own unique ways. My son, a self-declared feminist, had started the Hillary Clinton club at school back in the fall of 2015, and my daughter had been checking fivethirtyeight.com religiously and was doing an election unit in school. We watched all three debates as a family, and watched all of the subsequent Saturday Night Live parodies, laughing together. All I could think about, alone in my California hotel room in my dazed state, was how my kids would react when they woke up, and how we would reassure them about the future.

Feeling totally powerless and drained, I decided to write them an email at 11:40 p.m. (PST). I needed them to have words to wake up to that were not filled with hate, xenophobia, bigotry, sexism, and campaign rhetoric. I needed them to have answers to “How?” and “Why?” Here is an excerpt:

“The news is not what we expected. I know we are all stunned. I have many friends and colleagues who are wondering how to explain this to their children. I do not have a good explanation for you...But I do know this. The love that Daddy and I have for you knows no bounds. It is our job to keep you safe, and we will do everything within our power to make sure that you feel that and know that. I also know that we will get through this. We are New Yorkers, and we can endure the toughest obstacles. We are Jews, and we are survivors. You have Irish heritage, and we will fight for what we believe is right. No matter what happens, Daddy and I will love you no matter who you love, or what you decide to do in life. We believe in you and we will support you...I cannot wait to get home and hug you and hold you and remind you that we are a family, and nothing can break that.”

My husband read the email to them in the morning. My daughter called me sobbing. My son cried, got angry, and said some unkind words about the president-elect. It was a wake-up call that we never imagined.

Now we are in the week after the election, slowly coming to grips with our changed reality. My daughter and I are planning to march on DC in January. My husband and I individually donated to Planned Parenthood, the ACLU, and the Southern Poverty Law Center. I have traded numerous emails with friends who are afraid, and we have sent our love and strength across the wires to each other. And...my son will be performing in a musical the latter half of this week and on the weekend. He has been rehearsing for months and has worked really hard. We have many family members, friends, and colleagues coming to cheer him on. In some small way, it offers hope, and some infinitesimal degree of normalcy. I cannot say when day-to-day life will start to feel more routine, but I learned at a young age one of my most important life lessons from the theatre -- no matter what, the show must go on. My son is learning that this week. Let’s go on with the show.    

The views expressed in this post are my own and are only intended for spirited debate.