Parents brought children to the occupation in Ottawa. They set up camp on a main thoroughfare, in front of apartment buildings and retail shops, and obstructed the lives of others. They honked their big rig horns, left their diesel engines running day and night, and set up barbeques, and food tents, and bouncy castles, and even a hot tub. They blasted music and partied late. They set off fireworks in the middle of it all, with fuel and propane cans in clear sight. All in below zero weather.
In the midst of it, one image stands out to me the most. A bare chested man, wearing a Canadian flag as a cape, dances through the crowd, beer in hand, whooping and hollering. Behind him, just barely in sight of the camera’s scope, is a small child, no more than three. A little pink snowsuit pushing her way through the sea of adult legs, trying to keep up with her Daddy.
“Children thrown into these situations learn that there is something more important than them to their parents,” a child psychologist comments when asked about the well being of children in the crowd. “They internalize it and conclude that there is something basically flawed in themselves.”
I know the feeling too well. My inner child wants to offer that child a hand and lead her out of there.
(Image my own)