Fight! Fight! Fight!
By: Karen

I have never been in a true fist fight.
There was one time in high school that a friend accused me of flirting with her boyfriend. When I tried to walk away from the argument, she smacked me in the back of the head.
A friend that was with me, looked at me and said: “I know you are not going to let her get away with that.”
In my head I was thinking, umm, yes I am. I am fine with letting her get away with that. Before I knew it friend two had spun me around and shoved me at friend one! She took this as an invitation to fight, and suddenly we were surrounded by teenagers cheering: FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT! SO I did what any skinny, scared, white girl would do. I closed my eyes and started swinging. I do not think I even connected, and I kept praying for the lunch monitors to break it up quickly. I came out only slightly injured and missing some hair, and we both spent the next couple of days in in-school suspension. I am just not a fighter, or so I thought.
There has been much conjecture about what my life is like in Chicago, and what I am doing here. The truth is I am fighting.
I am fighting to finish school so I can support myself and hopefully provide more for my kids.
I am fighting to balance this full load of school and homework with two jobs, because right now I am fighting to make it financially.
I am fighting to make sure that the ballerinas I have in my care are well taken care of and happy.
I am fighting to piece together a life that I do not recognize, and to recreate what and where I thought I would be.
I am fighting to be healthy emotionally, mentally and physically.
I am fighting to be the best human being I can possibly be every day.
I am fighting not to let loneliness, fear, and disappointment overtake me, and to turn those things into positives.
But above all else I am fighting for my kids.
I want them to know that they are loved beyond measure.
That they took this wild child artsy protester and turned her into a mom, and in doing so changed my life and made me learn the true definition of love.
I want them to know that every time my alarm goes off and I want to hit snooze, I don’t, because I want to succeed that day for them.
I want them to know that every time I want to quit school and give up, I picture them at my graduation, and I keep going.
I want them to know that I want to be the best person I can be, so that I can be the best mom that I can be.
I want them to know that they are my light and my hope and all of my dreams wrapped into one.
I want them to know all of this, and so I fight.
In the beginning I felt like I was going at this alone, but slowly the crowd has begun to gather around me. One by one the bystanders have come, and together they have begun to form the circle. I hear them chanting when I want to give up….FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT. And I know I am not alone. This time though, I am not closing my eyes, I am swinging with eyes wide open.

I know like in high school, I will not come out of this completely unscathed and without wounds. But I know that I will come out the other side, and that I will be glad I did not walk away from this fight.