One Protestor's View: A Worm's-Eye Account of the March for Our Lives in Fort Worth, Texas

I had spent my Friday evening after work making my protest sign.  I’d never made one before: during my 20’s I missed out on the Occupy Wall Street movement because I’d been one of the working poor.  Taking days off work to protest anything would have meant losing my job and home, and I worked weekends and evenings.  I’d been working at previous Trump-era protests, handing out cards for my candidate Ruby Faye Woolridge, or holding signs and banners with others who were joining us.  This time was different though: I had a pocket full of business-card sized campaign cards and would have others from the campaign in attendance to help work the crowd and hand out cards.

Finally, after a few hours of measuring, sketching, cursing my mistakes, erasing, re-sketching, more cursing, and intense coloring and final erasing, my sign was ready at last.  It was double-sided.  My wife thought up the first slogan, and I provided the imagery:

I’m not out to ban guns altogether, but come on: the word “regulate” is right there in the 2nd Amendment.

The other side was all my idea and, considering I have just shy of no artistic ability whatsoever, I had managed to make it look halfway decent as well:

If we can make drivers follow limits on their cars around schools, we can do the same with guns and gun owners

Armed with the weapons the First Amendment allowed me to open-carry, I headed out for my in-laws so we could carpool to the courthouse.  My wife is recovering from pneumonia and couldn’t join us, and was worried about our safety.  She pleaded with me to be careful, because there were rumors counter-protestors would be there open carrying rifles and handguns and she feared the worst would happen once both sides met.  I assured her that we’d be fine at our peaceful protest, even as a part of me wondered if I was placating her instead of telling the truth.  I’d soon find out, I guessed.  By 9:30 AM, myself, my parents-in-law, and one of their neighbors (and fellow member of my MIL’s activist group The Progressive Women of Arlington) had arrived at the courthouse.