A Different Generation, A Different Culture, The Same Worries for Parents

To my parents, the summer of 1968 had been a long, tumultuous one. In retrospect, I marvel at how many seismic events I'd breezed through that year. While I learned to ride a bike, chased the ice cream man and hung Bobby Sherman and Brady Bunch posters on my wall, I had no idea about the world-changing disturbances cropping up around me, even as events played out out on the Nightly News.  How was I to know anything about racial division, war protesters or civil disobedience?  I was not yet five years old.

Yet, by summer's end, America was still reeling by the death of two giants in the civil rights' movement, Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. The night of Kennedy's assassination, I played Barbies on the living room floor as my mom ironed pillowcases while watching the Senator's victory speech at the Ambassador Hotel. Suddenly mom gasped and dropped her iron to the floor, shouting "Oh, God not again!" as the image of a slain Kennedy lying on a cement floor burned into my head.  Normally one might not remember that far back once he or she is my age but such a traumatic event is not easily forgotten.




Add to that a summer filled with psychedelic music, images of bloody combat in Vietnam and long-haired war protesters burning flags. I can only imagine what my parents thought about the world around them as they tucked my little brother and me into our cozy little beds.

Most adults barely remember their very early first days of school but I do.  In fact, I specifically remember the night before. I've been tested twice for a photographic memory. I have images in my head from so far back I swear they must be in my hospital crib. But that's another blog. :)

The last night before my first day of Kindergarten, my little dress was laid out as I said my prayers and Mom tucked me in. With a sad smile, Mom brushed hair from my eyes.  I asked why she was sad. Was she going to miss me?  Mom's answer was  something most parents today would shudder to hear.  Mom revealed she thought our world was "falling apart" and she wondered aloud what life might be like by the time my brother and I were grown-ups. Mind you, this was a pretty heavy sentiment to unload on a mere kid but back then, kids were not nearly as shielded from real life events as they are today.  I wasn't traumatized by her statement although I admit I was scared.  After all, when I'm afraid of anything I look to my parents for protection.  What happens when the grown-ups are afraid?

Flash forward more than four decades later.  I found myself in that same spot Monday night as I kissed my eight-year-old daughter goodnight.  She knew there had been an explosion at the Boston Marathon but we didn't tell her someone actually planted bombs, we just held hands during grace as we always had and prayed for the victims during dinner.
 
Children seem to have an innate sense of when to ask specific questions. I pondered how to answer my daughter if she asked HOW the explosion happened. Sometimes she'll ask a profound question at a time when I'm trying to figure something out and brilliantly, her question leads me to my answer. I believe this is God speaking to me. Last night, she did not ask anything profound.  She just asked me why I told daddy I was worried about her future. Apparently, she hadn't gone directly upstairs to brush her teeth...

I explained that sadly, the world is a dangerous place.  Sometimes people are sick and do bad things to harm others. As I sat on her little bed, I told her that when I make her check in with me from the yard or I get mad when she plays near the street or doesn't answer me when I call her, it's only because I want to protect her.

"I feel sad that our world is crazy and that I can't always be around to protect you from the things that happen," I told her.

With all the faith and confidence of a toothless eight-year-old, she sat up from her bed, grinning and said,

"But mommy, that's why God gave me a Guardian Angel! You have one too, ya know. So you can just STOP WORRYING now!" :)

So there it was, a simple answer to an age-old question posed by parents from generation to generation, continent-to-continent.  I'm now certain that, during that wild summer of 1968, my parents could not have even imagined the world we children would go on to inherit. But guess what? We're still here, now parents in our own rights. We're now the protectors, not the protectees.  We are the comfort during storms, we provide the shoulders our children cry on in times of disappointment. 

Is this world ideal? Definitely not.  I wish it were, as do we all but here's the thing. We can choose to dwell on the bad... and perpetuate it... or we can pick up the pieces yet again, crisis after crisis, attack after attack and move on,  ever mindful of one more notch of experience in our nation's collective belt. I choose to put it in the back of my mind and continue to be the safe haven for my child. 

Meanwhile, the world will keep spinning.  Horrific things will continue to happen.  Parents will shield their babies and despair over their children's futures. Then suddenly, just as we're about to lose all hope, these children....these beautiful, untainted, unjaded little creatures, will always restore our faith in Humankind.  And the beat will go on.  Keep the faith my fellow Americans.  God put the children on this earth to remind us that He will always be there to deliver us in the nick of time.

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