Today, I dropped off my four kids at summer camp, and as I walked out of the auditorium, a chilling thought gripped me: What if a gunman entered and harmed them? I found myself picturing the scene in vivid detail, imagining my youngest crying for me in her final moments. I couldn’t shake the regret of sending my oldest, who had expressed reluctance just that morning. I wondered if she had sensed something I didn’t, questioning my decision-making as a parent. Sitting in the parking lot, I felt tears streaming down my face, contrasting sharply with the bright colors of the camp’s flags.
The weight of these thoughts feels overwhelming. I envy my children for their innocence, blissfully unaware of anything beyond our delightful family vacation two summers ago. They inhabit a simple world, where good triumphs over evil, and the notion of a violent act is as foreign as a mythical creature. As their mother, I know this idyllic existence will eventually crumble under the harsh realities of life: that terrible things do happen, and our perceived control over safety is merely an illusion.
Yet I refuse to live in constant fear. I don’t want my daily decisions to revolve around potential threats. Should we sit at the back of the restaurant to be near an exit? Maybe we should just order takeout tonight instead. I’ve seen only one movie since the horrific events in Colorado, and throughout the film, I was hyper-aware, anticipating a possible attack. I’m embarrassed to admit I can’t recall the plot, the food we enjoyed, or even my children’s reactions—my mind was consumed by dread.
This is precisely the reaction that those committing these atrocities seek to evoke. I wasn’t in Orlando during the tragic nightclub shooting, but the relentless news cycle makes sure I am exposed to the horror repeatedly. I find myself scrolling through social media, bearing witness to heartbreaking stories and videos, feeling the weight of grief for victims and their families.
I remember the famous words of Mr. Rogers about looking for the helpers in times of trouble. The truth is, that advice terrifies me. It implies that we must shift our focus away from the perpetrators, but I’m not ready to do that yet. My fear, anger, and sadness are still fresh.
I cannot change what transpired in Orlando, Rwanda, or North Korea, but I face a critical choice: Will I allow despair to consume me, or will I actively seek out the helpers? Will I choose to live boldly, engaging in activities like visiting Target, watching movies, or attending concerts despite the risks? Will I point out the dog in the neighboring car and encourage my children to wave at the driver, or will I be consumed by suspicion about that driver’s intentions? Will I set up the tent in the backyard so my children can stargaze, or will fear prevent that simple joy?
No. I refuse to let fear rob me of experiencing the beauty around us. The next day, I might just take my kids to the movies, despite my anxieties. I’ll encourage my shy daughter to buy the tickets while I celebrate her bravery. We’ll choose the best seats, a tradition I cherish, and settle in for a film, focusing on joy rather than fear. I’ll pass the popcorn, grateful we made it there safely, even in the face of uncertainty.
Life is too precious to let fear dictate our choices.
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Summary:
This article explores the emotional turmoil of navigating life amid fears of violence while raising children. It reflects on the tension between wanting to protect loved ones and recognizing the importance of living fully despite potential dangers. Ultimately, it emphasizes resilience and the choice to embrace joy over despair.
Keyphrase: parenting in fear
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