Written on Rosa Parks Day — a reminder that ordinary people change the world. I’m writing this letter to you today with that courage in mind.
My sweet girls,
I don’t know how old you’ll be when you read this. Maybe you’ll still be young. Maybe you’ll already be stepping into your own lives. But I want you to know something about this moment:
I am thinking of you as I write.
You are the reason I don’t look away from suffering.
You are the reason I speak when it would be easier to stay quiet.
You are the reason I care so deeply about the world adults are building in front of you.
Your Nana is not sitting quietly. I am joining the other grandmas, parents and committed grown-ups fighting for a world that feels safer, kinder, and more honest for you to grow inside.
You are always watching us. You are learning from us long before you have words for what you see. You are studying how adults handle anger. How we treat people who are different. Whether we protect each other or join the crowd when someone becomes a target.
And I cannot pretend that those lessons are harmless.
It is NOT ok for you to grow up watching adults bully each other.
It is NOT ok for cruelty to become normal in your eyes.
It is NOT ok for you to learn that the loudest voice deserves the room.
It is NOT ok to believe that only your own comfort matters.
It is NOT ok for empathy to be treated like weakness.
It is NOT ok to scroll past suffering and say it’s too hard to see.
It is NOT ok to stay silent when someone is being harmed and call it “staying out of it”.
You are watching us decide what adulthood looks like.
And my precious girls, I want you to see something better.
I want you to learn that empathy is a form of wisdom.
That compassion is a strength you carry on purpose.
That using your voice for someone else is one of the bravest things you can do.
That caring about people who are different from you is not naïve — it is human.
That real strength is knowing how to apologize, how to repair, and how to keep becoming better.
And I want you to understand something about faith, too.
Saying you believe in God is not just about wearing a cross on your neck or going to church.
It shows up in the way you treat people.
It means your belief shows up in kindness, protection, and courage.
A real faith — the kind worth having — makes you bigger-hearted, not smaller.
It asks you to stand closer to people, not step back from them.
As you grow into women, there will be moments when the world hopes you’ll give up your place to keep things comfortable. I hope you learn to recognize when comfort comes at the price of yourself, and you refuse.
Now every generation reaches a moment when it has to decide who it is.
This is ours.
And I want my choices to be in service of you — and every child who deserves to live a life that is not organized around fear and hate.
Because I want to be worthy of your love.
The world will try to pull you inward. Build walls. Protect your own. Don’t get involved.
I want you to look at me and see another option.
A grandmother who stayed involved.
Who refused to treat meanness as normal.
Who believed children deserve adults who live their values out loud.
I’m not fighting because I hate the world.
I’m fighting because I love you inside it.
One day you will stand in your own moment of choice. Every generation does. When that day comes, I hope you remember what you watched growing up:
I hope when you look back, what you remember is not perfection.
I hope you remember adults who kept stepping forward anyway.
Who didn’t always get it right but refused to sit still when it mattered.
Who tried to widen the circle instead of shrinking it.
And your Nana — still here, still learning —
believing that empathy is the most important gift we carry,
that courage is contagious and spreads from one person to another,
and that the measure of a life is who you stand with when standing costs something.
That is enough for a remarkable life.
And it’s my wish for you!!
I love you with my whole heart,
Nana
