A Loss of Innocence

"Mommy, what's Boston?"

S#$t.

That was the first thought that ran through my mind when my almost six year old asked me this question two days after the Boston Bombing.

And the thing is, I would have sworn I was prepared for this moment.  I don't watch the news when the kids are awake/home.  I don't listen to talk radio when they are in the car.  Their father and I are very careful not to talk about scary things when they are around.

That being said, I had read the parent articles and blogs about "How to Talk To Your Child About ____."  I had thought about what I would say when the question came up -- even as I was praying it wouldn't.  Still, I know that as Girlie spends more and more time away from me, as she is exposed to more of the world, she is going to learn more about the world -- things I may not want her to know about.

But when she asked the question, I must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights.  I could remember nothing that I had read, could recall nothing that her father and I had decided to say.

So I stalled.

"Boston is a city," I said matter of factly, hoping that would end it.

"Are there bad men there?"

Double s#$t.

"Where did you hear about Boston?" I asked.

"At school."

Of course. 

"What did you hear?"

"That there are bad men.  And they had a bomb.  And they hurt runners.  You run, Mommy.  Are the bad men going to hurt you?"

Hell.  Thanks so much, school. 

"No," I said immediately and firmly.  "The bad men are not going to hurt Mommy."

"So there are bad men?"

"Well," I stalled.  "There are bad men -- not like in your TV shows but bad men in real life. But Boston is really far away from us.  You don't have to be scared of them, you know that, right?"

"But I'm a little scared of them," Girlie said.

"I know," I told her.  "Can I tell you a secret?  I'm a little scared of them too.  But then I remember something that makes me less scared."

"What?"

"I remember the helpers.  There are always way more helpers than there are bad men.  Did you know that?"  Thank you, Mr. Rogers.  Thank you.  

"Who are the helpers?"

"Helpers are people like policemen and firefighters and doctors and nurses.  Sometimes helpers are just  people like you and me who decide that they need to make good choices to help others."

"Oh," Girlie said, cuddling up to me on the couch.

So we sat there, quiet, her little blonde head under my chin while my heart ached with sorrow at her loss of innocence -- her realization that bad guys are not just in TV shows and books; that they are real and dangerous.

"Mommy?" she said a few moments later.

"Yes, Love?"

"I want to be a helper."

And then my heart ached with love.