Wednesday, February 26 was Pink Shirt Day and…
I missed an opportunity. I am sorry.
Pink Shirt Day should be a celebration of kindness and respect of others. It deserves a loud celebration of acceptance and tolerance. Today, I let it go by with a whimper.
I did not do much today about Pink Shirt Day. Teachers did, but I was too quiet. I did not find a pink shirt to wear. I didn’t even wear my pink tie. I told myself I was too busy. I didn’t have time.
Sorry Doug. For some things, you make time.
Last night at the PAC meeting, one of our parents reminded me about a poet whose video would be good for Pink Shirt Day. I did not get to it today, so tonight I am taking the time to watch it. Thanks Laurel for the suggestion. I liked it, and I think you may find Shane Koyczan’s To This Day video good to watch as well.
My favourite quote from Shane Koyczan was not on this video: “Standing up for yourself doesn’t have to mean embracing violence.”
As a culture, we still have a lot to do to promote acceptance, tolerance, kindness, compassion, respect, fairness and forgiveness. I may not have done anything special on Pink Shirt Day, but I have time to make up for it. Be patient. I will do something.
Youtube shows some links to videos on the right hand side of the screen. Sarah Kay’s If I Should Have a Daughter was one that was listed, and I remember viewing last year. I liked it then, and I like it now. I may have shared it before. It’s worth watching more than once.
“There is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it is sent away.” ~ Sarah Kay
Both poets would do well at our Words in the Woods event.
Take care
I still need to find a Pink Shirt.
The Camper
Night ‘neath the northern skies, lone, black, and grim:
Naught but the starlight lies ‘twixt heaven, and him.
Of man no need has he, of God, no prayer;
He and his Deity are brothers there.
Above his bivouac the firs fling down
Through branches gaunt and black, their needles brown.
Afar some mountains streams, rockbound and fleet,
Sing themselves through his dreams in cadence sweet,
The pine trees whispering, the heron’s cry,
The plover’s passing wing, his lullaby.
And blinking overhead the white stars keep.
Watch o’er his hemlock bed – his sinless sleep.
By Pauline Johnson, from Flint and Feather (1912)
