Spent this evening at home with my sweet girls, curled up on the couch watching The Help...its effect is still surprisingly profound, even though I read the book well over a year ago and saw the movie in the theater. The girls love it, too...by its conclusion, all three of us had cried a couple of times, Emily had downloaded the novel onto her Kindle and quietly begun reading, and Sara had adopted a Deep South accent, started calling me Mama, and developed a keen interest in the Civil Rights movement...she simply couldn't understand why anyone would treat someone differently just because they looked different or lived in a house that wasn't as nice. The notion is completely and wonderfully foreign to her...which seems to be a good indication that her dad and I have done a few things right. When Sara told me I reminded her a little of Skeeter, the single, independent writer who spearheaded the project, I was secretly thrilled.
If there's one thing I've really figured out in the past couple of years, it's that everybody deserves to have someone who is on their side...someone who believes in them and roots for them no matter how they mess up or who they hurt, or how bleak things seem. Skeeter knew that. I've learned it the hard way...and it doesn't always work out the way you hope...but I'm still trying to teach my kids that lesson, too. It's one thing to get pissed off when people are treated badly in a movie. It's another thing to put yourself out there for someone in real life...but nights like these make me think I'm doing a decent job. I've got two amazing kids to prove it. :)
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