I know this article is two days old, but I just now figured out what I need to say about it.
I have spent more than two years of my life volunteering in the National Park system. Two full trips around the sun spent in uniform, answering questions, pointing out wildlife, hauling gear, getting sunburned in ways the human body should not experience, and feeling lucky to do it. I worked at a National Park twice, a National Seashore, and a National Battlefield. But the truth is, all of that work added together still does not weigh as much, emotionally, as the Junior Ranger program.
I have sworn in thousands of Junior Rangers. Thousands. I have knelt beside kids who were clutching their little booklets like they were holding something sacred. I have seen shy children suddenly stand tall when they recited the words. I have felt the weight of the oath settle into the silence afterward. I have watched their parents cry, and I have tried not to cry with them.
Because the oath means something.
At least, it used to.
The idea that MLK Day and Juneteenth are no longer fee-free days, but Trump’s birthday is, breaks something in me I did not know could still break. I cannot imagine looking into the eyes of a child who just promised to “protect the land and respect all who share it” and then explaining that our public lands now officially recognize a politician’s birthday as more worthy of celebration than the end of slavery or the life of a man who died fighting for justice.
Junior Rangers take that oath with their whole hearts. They believe the world can be fair, kind, beautiful, shared. They believe the Park Service is telling them the truth about what matters.
What message do they get now.
That history is optional.
That equality is negotiable.
That love of land is fine but love of humanity is… inconvenient.
I have never felt ashamed in my uniform before. Not once. Not through budget cuts, shutdowns, storms, or the thousand small frustrations that come with public service.
But I would feel ashamed volunteering under this.
I cannot do it.
I will not do it.
And the international visitor surcharge? That is just another wound. I have watched children from other countries light up when they saw their first bison, their first canyon, their first soaring hawk. Nature does not ask for passports. The NPS never used to either.
The National Parks were one of the rare places where America told the truth about itself. The land is older than power. Older than politicians. Older than all of us. And we are supposed to protect it for everyone.
I know this article is two days old, but I just now figured out what I need to say about it.
I have spent more than two years of my life volunteering in the National Park system. Two full trips around the sun spent in uniform, answering questions, pointing out wildlife, hauling gear, getting sunburned in ways the human body should not experience, and feeling lucky to do it. I worked at a National Park twice, a National Seashore, and a National Battlefield. But the truth is, all of that work added together still does not weigh as much, emotionally, as the Junior Ranger program.
I have sworn in thousands of Junior Rangers. Thousands. I have knelt beside kids who were clutching their little booklets like they were holding something sacred. I have seen shy children suddenly stand tall when they recited the words. I have felt the weight of the oath settle into the silence afterward. I have watched their parents cry, and I have tried not to cry with them.
Because the oath means something. At least, it used to.
The idea that MLK Day and Juneteenth are no longer fee-free days, but Trump’s birthday is, breaks something in me I did not know could still break. I cannot imagine looking into the eyes of a child who just promised to “protect the land and respect all who share it” and then explaining that our public lands now officially recognize a politician’s birthday as more worthy of celebration than the end of slavery or the life of a man who died fighting for justice.
Junior Rangers take that oath with their whole hearts. They believe the world can be fair, kind, beautiful, shared. They believe the Park Service is telling them the truth about what matters.
What message do they get now. That history is optional. That equality is negotiable. That love of land is fine but love of humanity is… inconvenient.
I have never felt ashamed in my uniform before. Not once. Not through budget cuts, shutdowns, storms, or the thousand small frustrations that come with public service.
But I would feel ashamed volunteering under this. I cannot do it. I will not do it.
And the international visitor surcharge? That is just another wound. I have watched children from other countries light up when they saw their first bison, their first canyon, their first soaring hawk. Nature does not ask for passports. The NPS never used to either.
The National Parks were one of the rare places where America told the truth about itself. The land is older than power. Older than politicians. Older than all of us. And we are supposed to protect it for everyone.
Junior Rangers believe that. I believed that.
Now I do not know what to tell them.
And that is what breaks my heart the most.