My Kids, My Gems, My Struggle

The world is going to beat up our kids. I have been trying to prepare myself for this realization--this fact for the past few months, but it isn't really something you can prepare yourself for. My daughter is 3 and half now. Although it is fun and amazing watching her age, get smarter, and become more well spoken, it is also hard. Along with her brain developing concepts with math and language, it is also helping her become more aware of the world, and unfortunately being aware of the world can and will be a hurtful thing. The world is going to beat up our kids, and unfortunately it is probably necessary.

Mel's beloved 99 year old grandmother passed away this week. She was a sweet woman, out spoken, and mischievous. Maeve had only been around her a few times in the past 3 years, but they were good visits, and she knew that Maw had fish at "her house" (the rehab and nursing facility where she lived.) We had a very short debate about what and whether to tell her of Maw's passing--that it was the reason Mama was sad. We told her. She asked a few questions, she pretended to be sad with her mama (which was kind), and then she went back to playing with her Palace Pets and building towers. She had heard about death before. Oscar the farm cat had died at my parent's farm last year. For a few months every visit with my parents started off with my little blonde haired cherub saying, "Oscar's died. He died, died, died." My mother would well up with tears; I would quickly launch into my "He's in heaven" rebuttal and we would move on. I always thought of myself as one of those parents that would force their kids to face the truth; grab their chin in my hand and forcefully turn their face to the sun. But I have found my heart not into it. I am that parent that quickly lets his mind scan the plot events of Brave before letting his kid watch. I am the one dashing past the news channels as to be sure no images can even quickly or imperceptibly crawl into her beautiful little mind. I find myself wondering what type of kids she will be around on the 3 year old soccer team I am going to coach; and, I, one who truly believes in the public school system I teach in, and know with authority that it has good schools that produces successful kids, find myself daydreaming and pricing the costs of a private education, lying to myself that kids in those schools will be nicer, more excepting, less judgmental. 

I was made fun of in school like everyone else. I was pudgy for parts of it. I had a weird voice compared to other guys in high school. I was considered smart, even though I really was just intuitive. I learned how to roll with the punches, deflect hurtful comments, find invisibility, stand up for myself occasionally. I went to funerals when I was young. My parents made me watch the news which made me smarter in some ways, even if it also made me painfully aware of the things that happened in the world. I know all of these things shaped me into the person I am, and eventually gave me the confidence that I could handle most any situation-- that I could recover, both emotionally and physically from life's events. BUT, I wasn't my own kid. Maeve and Cormac are mine, and like any parent (or really just aware person) knows we have a longing inside ourselves to protect them from any and everything no matter what. I will see an awful story on the news about a child being attacked in some dreadful way, and I find myself having the dark thought, " I would kill that person, if that had been my daughter or son." Our natural instinct is to protect, bubble wrap, disinfect, and neutralize--to with one little finger knock that kid down that pulls your daughters hair ( a double wrapped curl around one finger is clearly malicious). 

But we don't and we can't always do that. We have to let the world, the people and events in it, refine our children. Kids have to be taught how to deal with things through practice. We parents have to learn those same lessons. Our kids will get dumped. Our kids will get bullied. Our kids will be the bullies. Their hearts will break, harden, and learn to open up again. We will be learning all these lessons over again vicariously through them, wishing we could be the puppet master of our beautiful and precious marionettes.  I've tried to convince myself that life will be like one of those large gem polishers that the geologist put that ugly chunk of rock in and 20 minutes later a bright shiny emerald pops out. But we already have the bright shining emerald. They are given to us vibrant and flawless. I don't have a good metaphor for how life is to our kids. It's more like we have this precious gem that we try with all our might to hold onto and protect while a 1000 different people try to rob it and steal it. Thankfully, love is a great protector, and love covers a multitude of sins. So, I will choose to try and teach my beautiful kids to love the people in the world--to engage it and not be fearful of it. I will go against my base instincts to keep them locked up and removed and force them and myself to live fully, loudly, to love their Lord and believe that they are capable of even the craziest dreams. It won't be easy, but what's the point of having a beautiful gem if no one gets to know its beauty but me?