A White Girl's 9/11

9/11 was horrific. I knew not a single soul in New York. I lived in Arkansas, a sophomore in college.  I wasn't even a crier, and I wept for days. The despair.  The loss.

When the crying stopped I ended here:  What now? What the crap do we do now?

Strangest thing about the announcement I sent to 333 kids' families today: 9/11. On 9/11 we're going to do a PTO walk-and-talk. No "remembrance." No ceremony. Just gather, greet, smile, walk, and talk.
We're building community at our school. Or trying to. New England is chronically transitional. As much as I love the deep roots and loyalty of our town, there are precious families slipping through our fingers. Niños. Mothers. Papas. Aunts. Patriarchs and matriarchs unnoticed.
We white ones are comfortable. We can live here or there or anywhere and find acceptance somewhere. But our nextdoor neighbors who are beautifully all the shades of beige or brown or foreign-speaking, their every step is measured by the consequence of exposure to new faces. These new souls may not act so much like a soul but more like a wrecking ball because they are afraid. There is a protocol to follow when you are afraid. These protocols make us feel safe.
So tomorrow, we are tending to a silly, little PTO event. 
I don't know y'all. 
When I hear PTO I think white, middle class, and safe.  But tomorrow, 9/11, is not about that. Tomorrow is about community.  Tomorrow is about love heals, not time.  Time just numbs.
The face of our school community is not white. It is beige and brown and hazel-eyed and hungry and dappled and stunning.  It is a gorgeous, dappled face that exists in a peach crayon world.
I never liked the peach crayon. It was only good to mimic my skin tone, and at that it did a horrible job.
I want the dappling.
I want the diversity.
I want the hunger.
I want the sustenance of love and acceptance.
I want the pepper of five different languages in my ear.
I want the triumph of finally finding the one thing I can feed my kid's Islamic friend. I want my fellow mom who rises from the ashes of adversity daily to get her degree and work to put her babies through school all by herself. I want my daughter's friend who speaks fluent Italian. That is the life I want. These are the souls I want to love.
So tomorrow, on 9/11, we're going to do this simple, silly PTO event because I PRAY those souls and others like them know they are welcome to show up.

We want the dappling.