My Dearest Child,
Yesterday, when you returned home, tears streaming down your face over something you heard on the bus, I wanted to reassure you that the sixth-grader was merely being a bully. I longed to tell you that there are no bad people who enter schools and harm others without cause. I wished to banish your fears and convince you that villains are just figments of imagination and that the world is a safe place.
Yet, I would have been lying. I would have, and I would continue to lie if I could. I’d tell you that eating an extra piece of broccoli would make you stronger, that fairies deliver sweets when your room is tidy, and that there are no monsters lurking—neither in your bed nor in the shadows of schools.
But the truth, however difficult it is to comprehend, is that your time with me is limited. Someday, I will have to send you into a world where broccoli is optional, and fairies don’t exist, a world where, until recently, anyone could purchase a firearm at a store.
So, I gazed into your beautiful hazel eyes and chose honesty. Yes, there was a bad person who caused harm. Yes, people died. And no, there was no justification for it. I held you tightly as you inhaled and exhaled, your little body shaking until your tears subsided.
Once you were calmer, I pulled you onto my lap for one of our heartfelt conversations. It was challenging to know where to begin. I could have talked about past tragedies, like Columbine or Newtown (oh, the heartbreak of Newtown). I could have brought up issues like gun control or mental health. I could have described how some individuals see the world through a distorted lens, much like the character Kai from your favorite story.
But each time I tried to speak, I noticed the flush on your cheeks and the hitch in your breath. I couldn’t do it. Instead, I started again, using your language, the language of heroes and villains. I told you a story about a troubled person—someone who sought help but was repeatedly turned away, misunderstood, or ignored. This person, appearing as a villain, hid and waited for the right moment.
When that moment arrived, this sorrowful figure unleashed chaos, injuring and killing those around them. I paused and looked at you; your eyes sparkled with curiosity but were dry of tears. After all, it was just a story, and you are a master of stories.
“What do you think happened next?” I asked.
“A hero showed up!” you exclaimed.
I hugged you tightly, feeling your warm little heart racing. “Yes! Absolutely, there was a hero!” I replied joyfully.
I spoke of a brave young man who, after subduing the villain, tended to her injuries until the police arrived. You wanted the real story, the one penned by an author rather than my improvised retelling. I explained that no images could capture this tale—only the memories shared by friends over the years, moments that have forever changed lives.
You giggled then, a light, joyful sound that both comforted and pained me. “That can’t be real, Mama. No one would help a bad guy!” I smiled, knowing that, for a moment, reality was brighter than any fairy tale. Real heroes exist, and my story was true.
I told you about a day long ago when I was a student at Penn State. The hero, Adam Fisher, saved people I hold dear by stopping the villain and staying with her until help arrived. I was fortunate enough to meet him and express my admiration for his courage.
I explained that the villain was more of a sick person in need of help than a true monster. I chose not to share her name; we never give a villain power by speaking it.
Then, we discussed an incident in Roseburg, Oregon, where another hero, Sam Williams, rushed toward danger, even when faced with life-threatening odds, all on his son’s birthday.
I wanted to delve deeper into the complexities of good and evil, but you grew restless. I recognized you had absorbed all you could for now. After you left, I lingered, overwhelmed by memories and concerns for the future.
As I headed to my room, I noticed your toys lined up in your castle, the sounds of your play echoing in the hall. I watched as you battled dragons and knights, organizing them into neat formations.
Remember, my son, the world isn’t always tidy. Good and bad don’t fit into neat categories like your games. Often, villains are just sad or troubled souls rather than true evildoers. And while dragons may merely be large lizards, heroes? Heroes are very much real.
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In summary, the journey of understanding the complexities of life is a challenging one, but amidst the darkness, heroes shine bright.