Upstander Reflections

I killed Adam Toledo. Maybe after a little reflection, you will confess that you did, too?  Media outlets will tell you that a Chicago Police Officer killed Adam Toledo. However, I paid for the bullet that entered his chest. The officer may have fired the gun, by my votes and my tax dollars authorized and trained him to use it.  That officer patrols the streets at night while I sleep safe and sound in my bed. “Shots fired” ring through the static of his radio and he responds, running down an alley after a man carrying a gun. He does that for me. Why? So I can sleep safely and soundly. I pay him to do that. If you live in Chicago, you do, too.   But you know what else helps me sleep safely and soundly? Blaming the death of Adam Toledo on that same officer. That’s what it’s all about right? Me sleeping safely and soundly.  Tonight I’ll pay someone else to watch over “my” city while I sleep. Meanwhile Adam Toledo is dead, the officer that fired the shot wishes he was, and I’ll sleep safel

A black garbage bag covers my window. I put it up, because without it, the sun shines in and blinds me from what I need. My screen. I need to get curtains. I need to do a lot of things .But my screen calls, so I spend a lot of time with it. I used to work at a school with people, but now I work in an attic with a screen. I’m lucky to have the attic, the screen, and the job. I keep telling myself that.   Here I am, on my day off, back in the attic. I usually don’t do this. It’s bad for my health. On my days off, the screen is closed and the attic is empty. I try to get out past the black garbage bag and into the sunlight. I am grateful for those times. However, today is no ordinary day. (In fact, ordinary is not a word we use here in 2020). But of all the days in 2020, this is the big one. Tuesday, November 3, 2020. Election day here in America. Like many Americans, I already voted. I took the opportunity to vote by mail. Millions have voted by mail or at early polling places. In many s

The whole country is talking about school right now. Mostly, we are arguing. “Kids need to be in school!” “There’s no way I’m sending my kids to school!” Right now, school is a place. It has four walls, a roof, and we either want to send our kids there or we don’t.  This makes me sad. In the same way a pastor would be sad if someone told him or her that church was the building, not the people, or the worship.  If school is a place, then it’s education that we should be talking about. “That’s nice Mike but... How am I supposed to teach my kids and work from home?” “I’m an essential worker! I can’t work from home. What am I supposed to do with my kids?”  These are valid points, and I am living them everyday. I am expected to teach remotely while helping my three kids learn remotely. Meanwhile, my wife is an essential worker who can’t work from home. These things are hard, but does that mean I should send my kids to a place called school during a global pandemic?  The problem with school

“375! 376! 377! We made it! Molly and I began our celebration. I can’t remember the exact order, but I know it started with raising our hands above our heads and jumping in place like Rocky. After catching our breath, at some point, we recited the Pledge of Allegiance, fumbled through the Star Spangled Banner, and chanted USA! USA! USA! Like we were at the Miracle on Ice .  We got on our tippy toes, peaked our heads through the emerald crown, and looked out over New York City. The World Trade Towers, where we ate dinner the night before, dominated the landscape and I felt like He-Man, the Master of the Universe .   It was 1989. My Dad was running the New York City Marathon, and along with my Mom, Molly, Joe, and I got to tag along. We were numbers five, six and seven out of seven kids. The older siblings were off at college. It was just the five of us. Anyone who has a big family knows how special that is. Family dynamics change and you have your parents all to yourselves.  Terrorists

Three and a half years ago I was moved to write for the first in my life. I walked the streets of Washington DC to welcome a president that openly insulted my students and their families. Yet, I was inspired by the hope that resonated from my students and their belief in this country, despite the negative rhetoric. The National Mall spoke to me as I toured the city. America’s past seemed to come alive and challenge me. At the end of the first day in DC, I wrote down these words.  REMEMBER THE DREAM OUR FOREFATHERS HAD. REMEMBER THE STRUGGLES OF OUR MOST VULNERABLE GROUPS. REMEMBER THOSE WHO FOUGHT TO PROTECT THAT DREAM. THE DREAM IS YOURS. DEFEND IT! I titled that reflection Hope and Fear . I hoped that our country would come together to fight against divisions that were rising. I hoped that all our struggles in the past would guide us in the path forward. However, I was also fearful. I worried that divisive rhetoric would build barriers between us. I worried that those of us living th

A Piece of Cloth  -Mike Walsh  A piece of cloth  is tearing us apart  Wardrobes full of clothes  Worthless We are Imprisoned on a screen  Muted   A firm handshake - An embrace  Relics  The power they hold  Trapped  Six feet away  The piece of cloth  Divides   Beady eyes peer out  Everyone  Is the enemy  Our smiles  Shrouded  Our voices  Muffled  By a piece of cloth  The things we hold  Dear  Taken  By a piece of cloth  Yet, the piece of cloth Protects  Shields  From the real enemy  The Virus  Victory  Lies beyond the piece of cloth  Together  Yet separate We must fight  Win We know how to fight In Streets  Face to Face  Signs  Slogans  Holding hands  But this fight is different Adapt  Or perish  The Virus Waits  Six feet away    Will we lose a war  Against a piece of cloth? Is this how  Democracy  Dies?    A piece of cloth  Fastened  As a blindfold  On our eyes  Science  Defeated  By  Freedom  Torn apart  By a piece of cloth