Daughters, Daddies, and Broken Hearts
I remember when I was 27 and our first daughter was learning to walk. I told an older friend how hard it was to watch her fall and hurt herself. He said, "Just wait until she comes home from school with a broken heart."
In that moment I tried to imagine my little girl as a teen-ager, sobbing in my arms because she thought she was ugly, or because she was lonely, or because someone had been cruel and wounded her heart. I remember that I could just barely imagine the sadness, and it took my breath away.
These days I live with that kind of pain all the time.
The amount of love and care my wife and I have invested in these three little hearts is unthinkable. We've raised them so gently, nurturing their self-esteem, walking carefully with them through every stage of life. And now that two of them are in secondary schools, we must turn them over to the savages. Middle school is Lord of the Flies. High school is a little better, but still brutal.
Last year Shelby was selected by the girls in her class for special torment and pain. My little Shelby whose every look and mannerism is known and loved by me. Why Shelby? She's socially gifted and able to relate well to her peers. But she was the new girl in school and she was chosen. It was like watching the hyenas cut one gazelle out from the herd and take her down.
Some days before school she would almost throw up from fear. I had to take her to school and let her fight the battle herself. You can't let your children die, so there are times to step in. But mostly they have to get through these things on their own. We met with teachers and counselors to help, but for the most part she had to deal with it herself.
Watching it was so painful. My little sweetie. How can anyone want to hurt her?
This year has been better. She's established herself with the kids in her school and has friends. Well, she thought she had friends. Yesterday one of the girls in her group told her that they had talked about it and decided that they weren't going to be Shelby's friends anymore. She was strong at school but fell apart at home. She has learned not to let them see you sweat.
I gave her a hug and tried to be strong too. Under my breath I cursed. "Dammit! We did this last year, and I don't want to do it again."
But this is the way it is. This is what it means to be a parent. You cannot save your children from pain. If you try, you will only bring a different kind of pain to them. They must grow, and they must walk, and they must go out into the world and take their licks.
And you must sit at home and imagine what is happening. You must root for them, cry with them, and feel what they feel. This is the way of parents. No one can tell you this ahead of time. You can't know it until you know it.
And of course I know that there are much worse things out there for children. Shelby will be fine. She has marvelous ego strength, and this season of her life is just one of many.
But knowing that there is worse pain doesn't make present pain hurt any less.
rlp
8:20:53 PM 
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