What a Rabble Rouser am I
Or…How I organized a strike at the age of 8.
They say that we are cursed to have children like ourselves. Oh, how I hope that isn’t true. You see, as a child I was a bit of a…challenge. (I don’t think I’ve posted this before, if I have, please ignore it.)
We were living in Lexington, KY at the time of this particular story. Back then, my sister and I were latch-key kids, letting ourselves into the condo everyday after school. We’d do our homework and then go outside and play on the Condo Property.
Everyday as we walked home, we would stop by the mailbox and collect the mail. As the oldest, I was “in charge” of my sister and I and so I was the keeper of the keys. On the day in question, there was a letter from the Condo Association in the mailbox. It wasn’t in an envelope, so the curios child opened it and read it.
I admit that some of the words were foreign to me, my vocabulary not yet expanded to include all of the jargon, but I believed that I understood the missive from context. I believed the message to indicate that, effective immediately, the children of residents would no longer be able to play outside in the parking lots or grassy areas of the property. Further, that play areas would be restricted to domiciles, patios, and balconies.
To my credit, I did not immediately leap into the deep end. Instead, I went to my sister’s little friend’s house. Her mother worked nights, and so was home when we got home from school. We took the letter to her and I asked her if it meant what I thought it meant to my 8-year-old brain.
Naturally, if this story is to proceed, you know that she confirmed my understanding. I asked her, “Can they do that?”
“They think they can,” she replied.
“We CAN’T let them DO THIS!” I was emphatic.
“What do you want to do?” she asked.
“Let’s get all of the kids together for a meeting. We’ll talk about it, and then…then we’ll strike like adults do when they are mad. We’ll go on strike!” The little cogs in my brain were working overtime.
So, the three of us girls quickly started making the rounds, rounding up all of the kids in the complex. Everybody came over to the lady’s house. We made signs and came up with a chant. An hour later or so, we all agreed to go get our roller skates or skateboards and meet back up. Then, on wheels, we chose our picketing locations. We broke into two groups, one to picket each entrance to the complex. From there, we began skating back and forth, holding up our signs, and chanting “LET US PLAY! LET US PLAY!” in that rhythmic manner that is so compelling.
The story doesn’t end there. The lady that had assisted us called the news. Before you knew it, there were news vans, tv reporters, and cameramen everywhere interviewing us. My mom came home to see me being interviewed, on rollerskates, explaining the natural right of all children to play, and that we are not dogs to be restricted to a small space.
The story covered and most parents arriving home rapidly from work, the strike broke up and the media departed. But of course, we were on the news. And…as you might suspect, the media took our side and the Condo Association didn’t come out looking very…human.
This is why it was such a huge victory when the next day after school we found another memo from the Condo Association rescinding the previous day’s rule.
See, I’ve been Vanquishing Villains from a very early age.
