Fear

The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears.  

~ John Vance Cheney

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Like many parents, I sat for days and watched the news with information littering the screen about the Boston Marathon bombing.  I felt numb.  By numb, I don’t mean in a way that makes me have no feelings, no thoughts, no irrational fears, nor emotions.  However, I do fear this numbness is a kind of desensitization, and the thought of that scares me a little.  In my opinion, we’ve seen too much tragedy in my lifetime including Oklahoma City, 9/11, Newtown, the Boston Marathon and countless more.  All things I never feared whatsoever as a child.  Then again, I walked to and from school at the age of 9.  Cell phones didn’t exist.  I grew up thinking nothing could be worse than the Challenger explosion and hijacking airplanes in foreign countries.  All things that I knew deep down would never touch me in any way.  After all, I had no aspirations to be an astronaut, nor travel the world. 

The reality is, I am raising two children in a world that is quite different from the one I grew up in.  My greatest concern as a parent is my girls growing up fearing the world they live in.  While daughter of the year #2 is still too young to understand what is going on, daughter of the year #1 is keenly in tune to everything going on around her.  She is old enough to see things on television, hear them on the radio, overhear teachers speaking of them and, in general, just have a feeling that something is wrong.  She is not old enough to engage in social media and I find a little comfort in that.  I’m not saying social media is bad.  The news feed isn’t necessarily what I would consider to be “accurate” information.  A “friend’s” status update does not equate to fact.  What social media does is it thrusts us right into a worldly event before we know it.

The first time I really struggled as a parent with an act of violence was Newtown, Connecticut.  Daughter of the year #1 was old enough to know what had happened.  Frankly, the whole thing just hit too close to home for me.  I imagined time after time sending her off to school only to learn her life had been ended by tragedy.  How would I go on without her smile?  How could I walk past the piano knowing she would never play it again?  How would I explain all of this to daughter of the year #2?  And most of all, what would I do when the smell of her withered away and no longer could be found in our home?  It was an awful place for my mind to go.  In the end, as I mourned silently inside for those parents, I hugged my girls a little harder, made time for lots of tickles, and read as many books as daughter of the year #2 begged me to read at bedtime.  What I didn’t know, is how I would explain this to daughter of the year #1 when she began asking.   I doubted myself as a parent in a whole new way.  I let fear creep deep into my bones.  It nearly possessed me. 

I’ve had many people ask me how I would talk with daughter of the year #1 about the Boston Marathon explosion.  I make no claims at being an expert.  Come on, my blog is titled endless pursuit for mom of the year.  I didn’t choose that name with total disregard as to how true it rang for me.  These parents were doing what parents do - drawing ideas and opinions from others.  While no two children are alike, neither are any two parents.  What I’ve learned above all on my journey through parenthood is to trust my instincts.  My instincts told me that daughter of the year #1 would have questions.  My instincts also told me there would be quite a bit of misinformation out there and that it was my job, as a parent, to make sure that questions were handled appropriately, honestly, and with as much information as I had.   My instincts also knew it was OK to say, “I don’t know.” 

Daughter of the year #1 didn’t ask about the bombing until the next day.  She finally broke the topic with dad of the year and a thought process we never saw coming. 

“Dad,” she said, “did you hear there was a bombing yesterday?”

“Yes,” he answered.  “How is that making you feel?”

“It’s just,” she stammered, “we live in such a safe area.  If all these places are getting unsafe, won’t people move to our safe town and then it will be unsafe here too?” 

Wow, I didn’t see that one coming.  After reassuring her that our community is safe, we explained that bad things can happen anywhere at any time.  But yes, we live in a relatively safe community and that wouldn’t change anytime soon.  We also reminded her that if something feels strange, looks strange, or her tummy just tells her something isn’t right, to always tell a grown up. 

Given the fact that no one can predict the thought process of a child, a pre-teen nor a teenager, as parents, dad of the year and I have taken the stance to have a dialogue with daughter of the year #1.  We always let her guide the conversation, never rushing, and always allow lots of time for questions.  She is very smart with sharply tuned senses.  She overhears conversations among adults, she hears news stories when we don’t think she is paying attention, and she reads newspaper headlines when we can’t remember her even being near a newspaper.   In times of crisis, most parents might be amazed to learn what their children are thinking simply by asking about it.  I know I always am!  It’s a perfect chance to clear up information that may simply be rumor or, in my case, to dispel worries that all the “bad” people will soon move into our safe community.   The fact of the matter is, there are so many places for kids of any age to learn about a national tragedy such as this.  As I said before, I’m glad we’re not dealing with social media.  At least not yet.  It creates a place for individuals to post fact, opinion, misinformation, links to articles, videos, blogs, and so much more.  It’s there, in their faces, whether they want to know about it or not.  It’s still equally important to not let them hide behind their screens.  Talk about how they are feeling, what they are reading, or questions they may want to ask but just don’t quite know how.  Let your children be your guide. Leave the conversation like a visit to the bathroom when you have young children – always ready for someone to barge in whether the door is closed or not.  Above all, help them get to a place in their minds where they feel safe. 

While I let Newtown instill a fear in me I didn’t know could rear its head, I swore I wouldn’t let that happen again.  I couldn’t let those fears creep into my daughters’ minds and cause them to worry about every day things, like walking to school, or going to a movie, or watching people run.  So, instead we talk.  We laugh.  We comfort each other.  We calm fears.   

While taking an American Indian literature class in college, I got the great privilege of meeting a Native American poet named Joy Harjo.  Her poem Fear resonated with me like no other poetry I had ever read.  I read Fear after what happened in Boston.  I will leave you with the end of this beautiful poem. 

I take myself back, fear.


You are not my shadow any longer.


I won't take you in my hands.


You can't live in my eye, my ears, my voice


my belly, or in my heart my heart


my heart my heart


But come here, fear


I am alive and you are so afraid 
of dying.