I was talking last evening with a dear, dear friend, and we had a wonderful conversation that ran the gamut from how parents of small children are often too sleep-deprived to appreciate the wonder of what’s actually happening before their very eyes, to how parents worry about their children even when good things seem to be happening to them, to how parents beat themselves over the head long after the mistakes were made, to the most serious part of the conversation:  projections.

 

Not the kind where you rent a video and project it on the screen.

 

The kind where you look at your tiny innocent trusting children and imagine them grown up and doing brave things that put their lives at risk.

 

All around us we have examples of bravery, consideration, protection, patriotism, dedication, and just plain kindness.  We have firemen, policemen, soldiers, teachers, doctors.  All of these people are adults, and of course society has expectations of them if they are to be in these particular positions.  Adults have to run into burning buildings, confront evil, stick their hands into horrible quivering stinky things, convince reluctant people to work, and risk their lives on an hourly basis to help keep the world clean.  Most of these adults are our contemporaries or close; we grew up with them, or we met them somewhere as adults, and that they do their job unflinchingly is only to be expected.  NOT to do it, is to be a slacker.

 

But our children. . . . . our tiny innocent children for whom we would take a bullet, for whom we would lie down in the road, for whom we would face down Satan and die. . . . these small clinging people have no business doing risky things like that.  We would do anything to keep them from danger.  Anything.  Our children in these positions is unthinkable.

 

And yet.  We, and everyone around us, were once small children, whose parents would have done for us what we would do for ours.  The day will come when our children will be taller than we are, and they will pack up their things and move out, into the cold cruel world, and smack into the face of everything we tried to protect them from for eighteen or so years.  Whether or not they are prepared for that, is mostly up to us, and partially up to them.  After they walk out, it is up to them. 

 

To stand back and allow things to happen is the hardest part of being a parent.  To hold our children back and prevent things from happening is the worst mistake we could possibly make.  All we can do is instill in our children the values we believe in, hope our children find those values worth believing in, and pray that the lessons and examples we have held before our children have ‘taken.’

 

We don’t like to think of our children running into burning buildings, or sleeping in a ditch in a foreign land, with a big gun strapped to his/her back, eating disgusting food and drinking scummy water, waiting for someone else’s child to appear, to see which parent’s child can shoot first.  We don’t want to think that our children would ever be in a position where anyone could be deliberately and wantonly cruel to them.  It’s beyond our comprehension.

 

There is, however, something far worse than having our children choose to be brave and patriotic and adventurous and compassionate.  That would be having children who choose not to be.

 

Let us hope that we are able to instill in our children these qualities that would send them into the burning building, confront evil, touch untouchable things, teach others to be brave and smart and kind, and stand up tall to defend what needs defending. 

 

I have a hard time even imagining it.  I know that my children would not turn and walk away, but there is that tiny part of me that wishes they would.  Anything, to keep them safe.

 

But there is that larger part of me that knows they wouldn’t, and is damn proud of them.