I met my friend and her gentleman friend in Center City yesterday. We were there to go to the No Kings demonstration, but we only made it as far as JFK Plaza (“Love Park”) because the crowd at City Hall, the official start point, was already too big. We stood in the cold sunlight, sipping our coffee.

I had taken the bus there; it was detoured because of the protest, and half of the older people on board were holding witty handmade signs. I don’t make signs. I don’t wear political buttons any more, either. I’ve owned a lot of political buttons.

My adult kid was coming to join me, and I split off from my friends to go meet up. My kid and I sat on a curb, watching the crowds, admiring the creative signs, taking photos to prove we were there, talking with people.

“I can’t wait until my kid is old enough to make his own sign,” my kid said. The grandchild is 6; he could make his own sign now, but I don’t think he has any opinions about politics yet.

I have a photo of my kid when they were maybe two, sitting in a stroller at an ERA march, and it’s my kid’s favorite childhood photo.

It was a younger crowd than usual, and there was more diversity. It also was a larger crowd than usual. We sat there for a very long time watching the people stream past us from City Hall down the Parkway, a steady parade, so long that the two of us started to dare to be happy about it.

Then we went away to find a bathroom and have some lunch, having achieved our goal, which was to be bodies at the demonstration.

Someone on Reddit was complaining about how old and white these demonstrations tend to be, but we old lefties have always been the heart of protest, since we were young people. We never stopped going to them. Now, too, we don’t worry about getting arrested, because we don’t have careers to ruin. It’s also popular to loathe old people these days, don’t get me wrong, and sure, younger people tend to think in terms of other forms of protest, but there’s a lot to be said for just showing up. Just being willing to disagree. Instead of just bitching about injustice and corruption to your friends.

On the way home, I waited for the drastically detoured bus, and another woman was waiting alongside me; she hadn’t been to the protest. “I don’t understand why they have to reroute all the buses. They could just put the protest in Love Park. The buses don’t have to get routed all the way around the whole area,” she said. Her feet hurt.

“My feet agree with you,” I said, “But the protest was so big it filled Love Park and all the way around City Hall, and half a mile down the Parkway.”

“Oh, in that case, that’s a good thing,” she said, and we climbed on.