I Marched For All Our Lives

This past weekend I was a participant in the March for Our Lives demonstration in Palm Springs, California, which was my third march—the first being the Women’s March and the second the Science March. Both were in the city where I now live—Columbia, South Carolina; this last in the city I visited as a tourist.

Each time I was not disappointed in what I witnessed. No longer would we sit quietly, particularly when the lives of our children are at stake.

I awoke early that morning and made my poster. After all, what is a protest without a sign? I researched Facebook, Twitter, and various Internet images and decided on “Today I March, Tomorrow I Vote.” After a hearty breakfast of a scrumptious cheese omelet and toast, I donned my Mom’s Demand Action tee shirt and headed off to a local high school stadium, where the March was scheduled to commence.

Not knowing what to expect, I arrived early and settled into my seat in the bleachers midfield with my friend who I have known since kindergarten. The stands were soon filled and I was surprised at the number of marches who looked more like grandparents than parents— some even in wheel chairs. It was quite inspiring to see the support that the high school students were receiving from the elders of the community.

Each life lost was recognized. Their photos were held high for all to see, and a few students shared a few short descriptions to personalize each murdered Parkland student or teacher. It was quite sobering. The sounds of sniffles could be heard emanating from every corner of the stadium.

Then we matched , and as we headed toward the Palm Springs City Hall, the air was filled with the shouts of, “This is what democracy looks like.”

On the news that day and the next, I saw hundreds of thousands of marchers in cities throughout the country as well as in numerous cities around the globe.

I hope this is finally the beginning of changes in our government pushing us toward a more safe country. I hope that someday, I can open the history books and read the story about this movement to my grandchildren and tell them that grandma marched for all of our lives one sunny day in Palm Springs, California.


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