I was scared to go, and I didn’t have the faintest idea how to be a protester. As my patient husband can attest, I’ve certainly ranted and raved at home about issues. But the most radical political act I’ve committed up until this week was to vote. Except for maybe when I adopted a Black son and a Black daughter in the early 2000’s. Up until now, that’s been my statement to the world. If you want to know what I think about racism, diversity, and the meaning of love, look at a photo of my family.

But last week pushed me over the edge. As my husband says: when people ask how our kids are doing, he replies that it’s the same conversation we’ve been having at our dinner table for years. It’s just a new name. Same story, different person – this time it’s George Floyd.

And this…