@daphneraven6745

5 months ago

I was the first born in our family, and so for the first couple of years of my life I only knew the company of adults.

My mother taught me to read as I learned to make sounds, so as a very young girl, I was thirsty for new things to read.

we moved in close proximity to high school, where especially close to the end of the school year, the kids would sometimes do something that I thought was sacrilegious: they would sometimes tear up their school books, and leave them scattered.

Anne Frank’s diary must’ve been in such a literary an anthology In the hours immediately preceding its’ drift across my path.

I sat right there and read it, and then searched everywhere for the rest of the story. It was impossible for a little child that young to comprehend that there would be no satisfying end to the story. It was many more years before that was comprehensible.

And many years later again, with the requirements of a major degree on the subject matter behind me, it still seems impossible to comprehend.

It was a major sacrifice for the good man to share something so intimate and important; many, many lives will never be the same.

and yet here we have so many lining the streets, once again, screaming for the death of the entire race of people, “from the river to the sea“.

All this, while people can be—and are— charged for calling a man in a skirt by the correct pronoun “him”.

because that’s the real hate crime here, somehow.

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