A Different Kind of 4th of July

I used to take Pip and Phoebe to the playground almost everyday when they were younger. I remember one of these outings vividly--Pip was 5, Phoebe was 2. They were playing in the sandbox, Phoebe's thumb plugged in her mouth; Pip playing with a digger truck. Another boy, a little older than Pip, entered the sandbox and grabbed the truck from Pip. I was about to intervene when, POP, Phoebe's wet thumb stood straight in the air like a hitch-hiker's. "That's my brother," she lisped. The boy paid no attention; Phoebe toddled closer, thumb still erect, "That's my brother," she lisped again. I couldn't believe what I was witnessing: when did my two-year-old learn how to stand up for someone? The boy continued to push the digger through the sand. Pip was quietly shocked at the kid's audacity. Phoebe put her face in front of the other boy's, "That's my brother," she repeated a third time, a little louder, a little stronger. Although I was thoroughly intrigued by the scene, I decided it was time to intervene. As soon as I made my way to the sandbox from my perch on the bench, Phoebe's body relaxed, her thumb, horizontal again, plugged back in.

What motivates us to stand up for others? What entices us to sacrifice for others? Is it love? I certainly think love was at play in the above scenario, but what about when people make sacrifices or stand up for strangers? Is it empathy--our ability to imagine what the offended or bullied or marginalized is feeling? Is it morality--a sense of responsibility to our brothers and sisters? Or is it kinship--a feeling of being in relation to others?

Yesterday, as the rain poured down, my father arrived at our back door (we're staying next door to my parents for the holiday weekend) clad in rain gear under a giant umbrella. As I let him in, out of the downpour, he said: "Well, this sucks." (My entire extended family has gathered, for the first time in two years, to reunite with one another, and celebrate my brother's 40th birthday.)

"Yep" I responded, laughing at the sight of him.

"But at least it sucks for everyone," he added, "We're all doing the same thing, feeling bummed out together."

Moments before my dad's visit, while washing dishes, I had been fantasizing about other families and friends gathered together along the East coast, who, like mine, had anticipated a footloose and fancy-free weekend full of parades, bells, whistles, games, sparklers, fireworks, and sunshine. Living through the pandemic has left me feeling more attuned and connected to our collective experience. The cold gloomy weather is easier to endure when I contemplate the collective experience of disappointment; it's not just the old adage "misery loves company," it's having more to route for than my own experience, and realizing life isn't personal. The radical awareness ignites my capacity for empathy, love, and kinship. We are all siblings in the same sandbox.

Today, I'm thinking about my now 40-year-old brother, and my family, together again, celebrating life. I'm thinking about all the friends and families who made an effort to be together this weekend, and who may have been disappointed by the less-than-perfect weather. I'm thinking about all the courageous folks who have sacrificed for and defended our collective freedom. And I'm thinking about how much easier it would feel this 4th of July to stand up for my extended family of sisters and brothers after enduring the past two years together, as Americans, as humans.

And I'm grateful the sun came out for all of us. (Above is the clearing in the sky right as we sat down for Uncle Sam's birthday dinner!)

As always, thank you for reading,
Georgia

P.S. IN CASE YOU MISSED THE MEMO, THE SUMMER SCHEDULE IS ON: CAKE MWF @ 730AM EST and BLY TH @ 8AM EST