I was watching the news yesterday evening and saw a report of a man that was arrested on charges of sharing and possessing child pornography. He was a teacher. Surrounded by children every day, for the past 14 years. At his residence, police confiscated his computer, child pornography magazines, and...photographs of hundreds of neighborhood children...My stomach churned. My heart sank. The vein on the side of my head pulsated with immeasurable rage and contempt for this one single vile person.
My choice cause in the world became apparent to me nearly seven years ago when my niece was born. Not yet a mother, I felt the surgence of a plethora of feelings. They formed a single compact body of emotions. Singly, they held no significant power over me. But together, their strength was unmistakable. Fear, panic, hope, worry, expectation, adoration, paranoia. All different emotions, all aroused by different moments in life, to the most mundane to the most complex. But at one point in my life, all so suddenly brought together as components to a single unit, bound together by the glue that is love.
As a child and into my early adulthood, I never understood my mother's reasons for holding me and my sisters so tightly to her side, practically hostage. Why couldn't we spend the night at our friends' houses, why did we have to go straight home after school, why was she always so overprotective?! It had felt so stifling at times growing up. Wanting to participate in extra-curricular activities, wanting freedom to go out with friends, wanting to have boyfriends! Couldn't she trust us that we'd make good decisions for ourselves? Didn't we deserve a bit of freedom or some sort of reward fo rbeing good kids? But now I know. It wasn't us that she didn't trust. (Maybe sometimes it was.) It was everyone else in the world that was untrustworthy.
I've always said that I wanted a gigantic family. At least four kids, if my uterus could handle it. A big noisy family with big noisy family parties, kids running around everywhere. No one ever feeling lonely because there would always be enough love to go around. But now I'm not so sure. I don't want my son to be an only child. But I realize that an increase in family size is directly proportional to my increase of fear and anxiety. Another child to raise is another child to worry about. And I don't mean as in worrying about how to feed to a large family. The financial worries fade out somewhere in a dark and musty corner when compared to the anxiety I feel about bringing a child out into a world where his teacher may be a child pornography enthusiast! UGH! The dread!
And yet, I know...we must not live in fear but by faith...(sigh)
But every night, almost every night, I walk quietly into my son's room as he's sleeping. Finally asleep, suger-induced hyperactivity put on hold. Thank God. I gently lie next to him and just watch him for a little bit. Indulging in the quiet serenity of watching him sleep, I study his face. The tiny details of his face - his eyebrows, his long lashes, his round nose, and small poutiness of his mouth. I bury my face into his cheek and kiss him. I tell myself to remember him exactly as I see him at this moment. When he's older and no longer fits so snugly in my arms, at least I'll have this memory of his once and fleeting smallness. Without speaking aloud, I tell him "I love you so much!" And I pray over him. Please God, watch over my son. Protect him from anyone or anything that would threaten his security, his health, his happiness. And I think to myself How can I possibly protect him from everything in the world? How will I know if a child predator like the one in the news crosses paths with my son? How can I always be around to watch over him when I can't always be around at every second of the day? Will it ever be possible to conduct or attain a criminal background check and thorough psychoanalysis study report of every single teacher, coach, friends' parent, babysitter, and/or any adult he may ever meet or be under the supervision of from now until he's at least 45 or an age in which he is perfectly capable of squeezing the life out of someone with his self-capable, iron-pumping hands should the instinctive response to defend himself from any of the said people should ever occur?!
Motherhood is so hard. To put onesself willingly through such agony of anxiety and fear. And yet be so overcome with explicit joy and love. Two extremes always struggling to find balance. I'm not there yet but I know I'll find that balance one day. Or will I? Myself now a mother, and as was previously established multiple times, nearly 30 (nearly), my own mother still worries about my happiness and safety. Sometimes on my way out she says a silent prayer over me as she marks a tiny cross on my head with her finger. Does she think about us at night too when she's in bed? Does her faith quell her fear? There's more of us now to pray for, all of her grandchildren. How can it possibly get any easier?!
But I try to always remember what a friend from work always says: "This is life!" And so true she is. Yes, evil lurks in the world. It must be here to distinguish goodness. It provides that proverbial balance to life. It sucks that we need it in order to filter out good people. To stir compassion and motivate action. Otherwise, would we take each other for granted? Would my son's innocence still be so sacred? Would it still be something worth dying to protect? My answer is an emphatic "YES!". Yes, this is life, this is the way the world is but...Hurt my child and all the wrath of GOD will smite you down back to the firey depths of Hell from whence you came!!!
Yes, I believe that pretty much sums it up.
My choice cause in the world became apparent to me nearly seven years ago when my niece was born. Not yet a mother, I felt the surgence of a plethora of feelings. They formed a single compact body of emotions. Singly, they held no significant power over me. But together, their strength was unmistakable. Fear, panic, hope, worry, expectation, adoration, paranoia. All different emotions, all aroused by different moments in life, to the most mundane to the most complex. But at one point in my life, all so suddenly brought together as components to a single unit, bound together by the glue that is love.
As a child and into my early adulthood, I never understood my mother's reasons for holding me and my sisters so tightly to her side, practically hostage. Why couldn't we spend the night at our friends' houses, why did we have to go straight home after school, why was she always so overprotective?! It had felt so stifling at times growing up. Wanting to participate in extra-curricular activities, wanting freedom to go out with friends, wanting to have boyfriends! Couldn't she trust us that we'd make good decisions for ourselves? Didn't we deserve a bit of freedom or some sort of reward fo rbeing good kids? But now I know. It wasn't us that she didn't trust. (Maybe sometimes it was.) It was everyone else in the world that was untrustworthy.
I've always said that I wanted a gigantic family. At least four kids, if my uterus could handle it. A big noisy family with big noisy family parties, kids running around everywhere. No one ever feeling lonely because there would always be enough love to go around. But now I'm not so sure. I don't want my son to be an only child. But I realize that an increase in family size is directly proportional to my increase of fear and anxiety. Another child to raise is another child to worry about. And I don't mean as in worrying about how to feed to a large family. The financial worries fade out somewhere in a dark and musty corner when compared to the anxiety I feel about bringing a child out into a world where his teacher may be a child pornography enthusiast! UGH! The dread!
And yet, I know...we must not live in fear but by faith...(sigh)
But every night, almost every night, I walk quietly into my son's room as he's sleeping. Finally asleep, suger-induced hyperactivity put on hold. Thank God. I gently lie next to him and just watch him for a little bit. Indulging in the quiet serenity of watching him sleep, I study his face. The tiny details of his face - his eyebrows, his long lashes, his round nose, and small poutiness of his mouth. I bury my face into his cheek and kiss him. I tell myself to remember him exactly as I see him at this moment. When he's older and no longer fits so snugly in my arms, at least I'll have this memory of his once and fleeting smallness. Without speaking aloud, I tell him "I love you so much!" And I pray over him. Please God, watch over my son. Protect him from anyone or anything that would threaten his security, his health, his happiness. And I think to myself How can I possibly protect him from everything in the world? How will I know if a child predator like the one in the news crosses paths with my son? How can I always be around to watch over him when I can't always be around at every second of the day? Will it ever be possible to conduct or attain a criminal background check and thorough psychoanalysis study report of every single teacher, coach, friends' parent, babysitter, and/or any adult he may ever meet or be under the supervision of from now until he's at least 45 or an age in which he is perfectly capable of squeezing the life out of someone with his self-capable, iron-pumping hands should the instinctive response to defend himself from any of the said people should ever occur?!
Motherhood is so hard. To put onesself willingly through such agony of anxiety and fear. And yet be so overcome with explicit joy and love. Two extremes always struggling to find balance. I'm not there yet but I know I'll find that balance one day. Or will I? Myself now a mother, and as was previously established multiple times, nearly 30 (nearly), my own mother still worries about my happiness and safety. Sometimes on my way out she says a silent prayer over me as she marks a tiny cross on my head with her finger. Does she think about us at night too when she's in bed? Does her faith quell her fear? There's more of us now to pray for, all of her grandchildren. How can it possibly get any easier?!
But I try to always remember what a friend from work always says: "This is life!" And so true she is. Yes, evil lurks in the world. It must be here to distinguish goodness. It provides that proverbial balance to life. It sucks that we need it in order to filter out good people. To stir compassion and motivate action. Otherwise, would we take each other for granted? Would my son's innocence still be so sacred? Would it still be something worth dying to protect? My answer is an emphatic "YES!". Yes, this is life, this is the way the world is but...Hurt my child and all the wrath of GOD will smite you down back to the firey depths of Hell from whence you came!!!
Yes, I believe that pretty much sums it up.
posted by CrazyLady at 7:30 PM
3 comments
