To My Son: Heroes Are Real

home insemination Kit

Dear Son,

Yesterday, when you came home in tears after hearing a rumor on the bus, my instinct was to tell you that the older kid was just being a bully—that there’s no way a bad man would ever enter a school and hurt innocent people for no reason. I wanted to ease your fears and assure you that villains are only figments of imagination and that the world is a safe place.

But, deep down, I knew I’d be lying. I wish I could protect you from all the harsh realities of life. I’d like to tell you that eating one more piece of broccoli will make you a superhero and that fairies deliver sweets if your room is tidy, that there are no monsters hiding under your bed or in your closet, and certainly none in schools with weapons.

The truth is, you’re only with me for a little while. Someday, I’ll have to send you into a world where broccoli won’t be mandatory, and fairies won’t be real. Until recently, it was frightening to know that anyone could buy a gun at a store.

So, I looked into your soft hazel eyes and chose honesty. Yes, there was a bad man. Yes, he did hurt people. No, there was no justification for it. Then, I held you tightly until your breathing steadied and the tears faded into little red rings around your eyes.

Once you calmed down, I pulled you onto my lap for one of our “big talks.” It was tough to figure out where to start. I could have mentioned Columbine or Aurora, or even Newtown (oh, Newtown). I could have touched on gun laws or mental health issues. I might have explained that some people carry their pain like shards of glass in their hearts, distorting their view of the world.

But every time I opened my mouth, I saw the flush on your cheeks and heard your soft whimpers, and I just couldn’t do it. So, I decided to start fresh, using the language you understand—good and bad, heroes and villains. I told you about a sad and angry person—someone who sought help repeatedly but was turned away or misunderstood. This person, dressed as a villain, waited in the shadows until the moment was just right.

When that moment arrived, this troubled individual unleashed chaos, harming everyone in sight. I paused and looked at you. Your eyes were wide and glistening, but you weren’t crying. It was just a story, and stories are your forte.

“What do you think happened next?” I asked.

“A hero came along!” you exclaimed.

I wrapped my arms around you, relishing the warmth of your little body and the rapid beat of your heart. “Yes! There was a hero! Absolutely!” I exclaimed.

I shared the tale of a brave young man who confronted the villain and, after subduing her, tended to her wounds (yes, girls can be villains too) until the authorities arrived to take her away.

You wanted to see the pictures and hear the story from the author’s words, not my jumbled retelling. I explained that there were no images to share, no perfect sentences to read; just the memories my friends and I have talked about over the years—memories that changed lives and left haunting images.

Then you laughed—a bubbly giggle that both comforted and broke my heart. “That can’t be real, Mama. Nobody would care for a bad guy’s cuts. The hero would have just killed him.” I smiled, realizing that, for the first time, life was more magical than your fairy tales. Real heroes do exist, and my story was indeed true.

I told you about an incident long ago when I was a student at Penn State. The hero, Jake Thompson, saved some of my dearest friends by stopping the villain and truly cared for her wounds until help arrived. I felt fortunate to have met him and expressed my admiration for his bravery.

I explained that the villain was more of a hurt young woman than an outright monster. I didn’t share her name, though, because we never speak the names of villains; that only gives them power.

We also discussed a tragic event in Roseburg, Oregon, where even on that awful day, there was a hero. His name was Daniel Carter, and he charged at the villain despite being shot multiple times, even though it was his son’s birthday.

I wanted to share more about the complexities of good and evil, but you started to fidget, indicating that you had reached your limit for the day. I sat in silence after you left, overwhelmed by memories and worries about what lies ahead.

As I headed upstairs, I passed your room and noticed your little figures lined up on your wooden castle while you and your sister played. I watched as you battled dragons and knights, organizing your soldiers into neat formations.

The world isn’t always neat, my son. Good and bad don’t fit into tidy boxes like they do in your games. Often, villains are just sad or troubled people. Dragons are simply oversized lizards, and castles can be swept away by the tide.

But heroes? Heroes are very much real.

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