Tenemos Miedo

What do you do when your fear manifests itself in your children?

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Last night at bedtime, Wolfboy was worried. He was a very serious, worried little boy.

He was worried about tornadoes, for starters. Damn. I am too. I mean, I perhaps have an unreasonable fear of tornadoes. Every spring when the storm sirens sound, it scares me to death. We've had too many episodes where we had to hide in closets or bathrooms. I must admit that they kind of shake me up. No, they shake me up quite a bit.

Where I come from, we got hurricanes. Hurricanes give you plenty of warning. Tornadoes do not. One second you're fine, the next you're wondering if the building you're in happens to be in the path of destruction.

How do I tell my son not to have the same unreasonable fear I do?

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He also said he wished there were no mean animals, and that animals like lions and tigers wouldn't ever try to kill us. Ah, this one is easier to handle. Son, those particular critters don't live on this continent.

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And then he spun this chilling idea about perhaps being at laser tag and a man with a REAL gun sneaking in unnoticed and picking people off at will.

Did your heart drop like mine did? I asked him who told him about such a terrible scenario, but he swore he thought of it himself.

I tried lots of stuff, like how those things almost never happen, and how in those very rare instances when they do, it would be almost inconceivable that WE would happen to be THERE during it.

I do believe I was smart enough NOT to tell him he'd have a greater chance of being struck by lightning, by the way.

***

He wasn't acting reassured, and granted, taking the statistical angle wasn't exactly seven-year-old friendly.

I told him that I'd never, ever been anywhere with an armed madman who wanted to shoot people. Then I realized I'd inadvertently lied. That one had to stand though; I simply couldn't tell this little boy that his father had nearly been shot in the back of the skull at 15.

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I briefly tried to play the Krav Maga angle, but you know, it just wasn't flying.

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Then I told him that keeping him safe is my job, and that I'd done it quite well for his first seven years. I said that his parents love him, and that God loves little kids too.

None of it even sounded reassuring coming out of my mouth. He mentioned knowing about a convicted sex offender who lives in our neighborhood (though he didn't use that phrase; he just called him a bad guy).

***

It's fear. It's real. And the question is, how much is appropriate? Michael Moore addressed this well in Bowling for Columbine. Is our culture too saturated with fear?

Is this my doing? Did I raise him this way? Is this genetics? Memetics?

He will have to know, at some point, that evil is quite real, and that part of keeping him safe is teaching him to be aware, to avoid danger.

I know plenty about danger and trouble. I just need to be able to teach him to avoid it when possible, to protect or defend himself and others when left with no choice, and how to live a life not strangled by fear.

Yeah, it feels just as daunting as it sounds.

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Gotta crash. Ya'll have a happy weekend. Do something profound. Then take a nap and do nothing at all.