Perhaps it’s narcissistic. You probably don’t give a damn about the inner dialogues of my mind. But, no matter how many times I sat down to write about the momentous change we all were privileged to witness last week, I was unsatisfied. I deleted it five times over. I gave up, shut my lap top, drank buckets of coffee, and drummed my fingers on the table. Was it spectacular? Yes. Did a tsunami of hope come over me when I watched Obama swear into office? Of course. Can I tell you anything that a million other writers haven’t already said a thousand times over, with more eloquence than I could ever hope for? Nope.
So, here is my story about change. My change.
I grew up in a five bedroom house in oil rich south Texas. No, I don’t have an accent.
When he was governor, I once saw W standing on the steps of my church. I like listening to him talk. 2004 found me living, courtesy of my father’s pocketbook, in a small college town in east Texas. A staunch conservative, a shiny black W sticker glistened on the bumper of my Ford mustang. I voted for Bush.
I still cringe a little when I say the word. Liberal. I still feel a little out of place in my own opinions, kind of like wearing a prom dress in a bowling alley. It just doesn’t fit.
But, my eyes were ripped open in 2005 when I married an immigrant, lost my health insurance, and began work as a domestic violence advocate in a shelter for women and children.
Where to begin?
I poured every dime into just keeping my husband living in this country, legally. I worked two jobs to pay for fees and forms and legal advice. I parked my car up against a tree to keep it from being repossessed. I defaulted on my student loans. I dropped out of college. I gave away my cat. I pawned my beloved diamond charm bracelet. I moved to Canada.
The US government lost our paperwork. We had to start over. No refund. No apology. Start over.
Dropping out of school, I lost my health coverage. Due to medical conditions, I could not afford more insurance. There is still a stack of red envelopes on my kitchen table, bills from emergency rooms and hospitals.
Years later, my first real job out of college in a shelter surrounded by women who cannot afford housing, health coverage, clothes for their children, psych meds. Fathers deported, leaving behind five US citizens under ten years old to live very meagerly off of social services and charity.
I have seen first hand the magnitude of the hurdles facing people just to live in this country. I have seen people shackled together in an immigration office. I once saw a starving women, in the United States of America, shit in her pants at the table because her body didn’t know how to react to a full stomach. I have seen children covered in dirt, and sores, and lice – living in cars.
Liberal? Really, you?
Yes.
I lived it. I witnessed it I became a victim to my own blind choice. I changed.
Change is in the air, and as most citizens of this country and other countries watching worldwide, I am standing with open arms ready to embrace it.
My Name is Katherine, and you can read me on Katherine Unabridged.
