We were playing at a park one summer evening with my parents, my niece and nephew, and my own three kids. All five kids were up on the "bridge" that connected the two halves of the playground, and we became aware, after a few minutes, that there was a scuffle of sorts. After a moment, our kids all tumbled down the ladder and came running over to share the high drama that is inherently part of playground life. They were all talking at once.

"--wouldn't let her pass--"
"--pushed me against the railing--"
"--just wanna go home--"

"Whoa, guys!" my mom said. "Slow down, and talk one at a time. Now, what happened?"

As the story unfolded we learned that one boy had been blocking the bridge so our kids couldn't get passed, and when my niece tried to move past him, he shoved her against the railing, and she was afraid she was going to tip over the edge. Looking up at the bridge railing, it was apparent she couldn't have been in real danger of falling, and so the conversation shifted a bit to how they could have handled it.

My husband crouched down next to the kids and said, "Kids, it is not okay that Rachel was treated that way. And when someone is treating you or someone else in a way that is not okay, find your strong voice. And use it. Say, 'You can't treat her like that.' Say, 'Stop it.' Say, 'Cut that out.' Use your strong voice to speak up for what's right."

Since then, we've talked often with the kids about using their strong voice. And they have. Just two days ago, we were at the McDonald's Playland and there was a situation up in the climbing tubes where our 2-year-old Henry was being intimidated. Four-year-old Sam told me confidently, "Don't worry, Mom, I'll handle it." And then like a man going out to address the pain in the world, Sam the Hero marched right into that pink tube with all the confidence his little frame could carry and found the much-older boy who had hassled Henry. When Sam came back down, he said. "It's all taken care of."

I was curious. "What did you say, Sam?"

"I said, 'The way you're talking is scaring my little brother, so please stop doing it right now.'"

Tears came into my eyes--not because of that situation then and there, but because of all it meant for Sam's future that he knew the value of using his voice and he had the confidence to do it.

I want my kids to know that our voices should be--must be--loud when we fight for the marginalized in our world; that it is worth struggle and intense effort to feed our hungry neighbors and put roofs over the heads of the homeless. That there is no space for inaction when we're confronted with inequity; injustice; prejudice. That when we let go of the silly, the less meaningful, the trivial, then we have space for the great big stuff that grows boys into men and girls into women and this whole world into a place of far, far more hope.

Imagine if we all used our "strong voice" as if it were our own children without food; our own brother or sister feeling isolated in this community; our own mother or father trying to survive on a fixed income in an increasingly overpriced society. Let's use our strong voices for what we can teach to our children, and for what we can share with the world.