I Can’t Write the Post I Meant to Write

I can't write it because I feel like it's my duty as a person who's speaking in public to talk not about children's literature, which is a joyful and interesting, and wonderful thing, but about black men being killed and no one being punished for it. Which is awful, boring, and heart-breaking. As we know. Not like children's literature at all.

I don't even know what to say about it, except that it's horrible. And we all have to do what we can to bring the horrible monster—racism—into the light so it can wither and die. We have do everything we can so people don't view one another as monsters. So no man would say about another man, "It looked like a demon…."

We have to read books in which all of us exist. As people (or maybe wizards). Not demons.

We have to donate to communities (and especially to libraries) that have been damaged by racism. Because libraries are the light that will destroy the monster.

We have to try to listen (I'm not so great at that). To everyone. To say to all humans, "You exist, and because of that you deserve respect." No one should have to earn respect: we all deserve it, just for living.

I swear to you that I will never end another blog post this way, but I feel like I have to on this one:



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