My Dearest Child,
Yesterday, when you returned home in tears after hearing a distressing rumor on the bus, my instinct was to assure you that the sixth-grader was merely a bully trying to frighten you. I wanted to tell you that there was no villain lurking in schools, no one who would harm innocent people for no reason. I wished I could shield you from all your fears and convince you that evil exists only in stories, that the world is inherently good.
But I wouldn’t have been honest. I would have lied, and if I could, I would continue to weave comforting tales throughout your life. I’d tell you that eating another piece of broccoli will make you stronger, that fairies reward you with treats for a tidy room, and that there are no monsters hiding under your bed, in the closet, or in schools armed with weapons.
As hard as it is for you to grasp – and for me too – our time together is finite. One day, I will have to send you out into a world where broccoli is optional, fairies don’t deliver sweets, and just a few months ago, individuals could purchase firearms with relative ease.
Looking into your tear-filled hazel eyes, I chose to be truthful. Yes, there was a bad man, and yes, he did take lives for no reason. I held you close as your breath became steady and the tears transformed into red rings around your eyes.
Once your tears calmed, I took your hand and pulled you onto my lap, where we could have a real conversation. I wrestled with how to begin. I could have shared tales of Columbine, Aurora, or Newtown—each a painful memory. I could have talked about issues like gun control or mental health, or how some individuals see the world through a broken lens, much like Kai in your favorite fairy tale.
Yet, each time I began to speak, I noticed the red spots blooming on your cheeks and the soft whimper of your breath. I couldn’t do it. So, I shifted my approach to fit your understanding of good versus evil, heroes versus villains. I crafted a narrative about a troubled soul, a person who had sought help only to be turned away, misunderstood, and lost. This individual, wielding a weapon, embodied the darkest of villains, lying in wait for the perfect moment.
When that moment struck, the villain unleashed chaos, taking lives without remorse. I paused and looked at you. Your eyes were wide, glistening, but you weren’t crying. It was just a story—a familiar framework for you.
“What happened next?” I asked.
“A hero showed up!” you replied excitedly.
I embraced you, feeling your warm little chest and the rapid beat of your heart. “Yes! There was a hero!” I exclaimed. I painted a picture of a courageous young man who, after subduing the villain, cared for her wounds until the authorities arrived.
You wanted to hear the real story, the one crafted by an author’s pen, not my reimagined version. I explained that this was not a tale with illustrations or crafted words, but rather the memories shared among friends over the years—memories that have left lasting impressions.
You laughed, a bubbly giggle that both comforted and pained me. “That can’t be true, Mama! No one would care for a bad guy’s injuries. The hero would just take him out.”
I smiled, realizing that, for the first time, reality surpassed your fairy tales. True heroes exist, because my narrative was indeed rooted in reality.
I shared that long ago, during my days at Penn State, this truly happened. The hero, Nathaniel Jacobs, saved lives dear to me by stopping the villain and even tending to her wounds until help arrived. I was fortunate to meet him and express my gratitude for his bravery.
I elaborated that this villain was more a tragic figure than an outright evil. I refrained from mentioning her name, as we never speak the names of villains; it only empowers them.
We discussed the events in Roseburg, Oregon, where even in despair, a hero emerged. His name was Jordan Smith, who charged at the villain despite being shot multiple times, all while it was his son’s birthday.
I longed to delve deeper into the complexities of good and evil, but I recognized your restlessness—your young mind could only absorb so much. After you left, I lingered, burdened by memories and worries for the future.
Later, as I passed your room on my way upstairs, I noticed your toys arranged in a row on your wooden castle. I listened to the sounds of you and your sister playing, imagining dragons battling knights and soldiers being organized into ranks.
Remember, my son, the world isn’t neatly categorized like your games. Good and evil don’t fit into tidy boxes. Villains are often broken or lost, not purely evil. Dragons are simply large lizards, and castles can be washed away by the tide.
But heroes? Heroes are undeniably real.
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Summary
In this heartfelt letter to his son, a parent confronts the harsh realities of the world while emphasizing the existence of true heroes. Through comforting storytelling, he addresses fears surrounding violence and reassures his son that, despite the darkness, courage and goodness prevail.
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