To Love And Protect

I'm a mother. I have a fundamental instinct to protect my children from pain. In the course of their lives, I've soothed, encouraged, held, hugged and protected my little ones through the bumps and bruises associated with living. My love for them is a protective cloak guarding them from the many perils that threaten to harm them as they walk this journey of life.

There have been moments...holding a crying boy whose feelings have been hurt by another child, watching a sad girl trying to heal after a broken friendship...when I am overcome by a powerful, physical instinct to protect and fight for my child.

My daughter is in 7th grade - the year of G.O. elections. In her school, one girl is nominated from each of the 7th grade classes to run for G.O. President. The class votes, but the teachers make the final decision.

Elections took place last week. My daughter was really excited, having been obsessed with this since 5th grade. She felt that her chances of being chosen were pretty good. She had all the qualities needed and fit all the necessary qualifications.

I agreed, of course. I was sure she'd get plenty of votes, and I knew that her teachers recognized her talents and abilities. But I cautioned her during the week that if she was not chosen, she shouldn't be too disappointed. There are close to 30 girls in her class, several of whom would be good choices.

I waited with baited breath the day the results were to be announced. She came home, downcast.

"Who won?" I asked, my heart in my throat.

"Miriam."

Oh.

"I don't mind that I didn't win," she said. "But this was not done fairly. Miriam got only one vote. The head of G.O. is her aunt, and her sisters and cousins are always chosen."

My mother bear instinct kicked in. This was an outrage. How could they do this? How could they lead these girls to believe that their talents and hard work would earn them a chance at winning? How could they instill hope, when no one ever really had any chance?

I didn't want my daughter to suffer. I didn't want her to feel any pain. I would fix this.

I didn't, of course. I hugged her, I listened to her, I empathized. But then I let it go. I know that life is not easy. If I always pave the way, and continually make things easier for my children, I will create adults who are not able to deal with the real world.


My son is no longer a child. He's had his share of childhood disappointments. He's weathered his adolescence, gotten through his teens, and has grown into a mature and serious adult. Dealing with the real world.

And in the real world, I can't protect him.

I see his pain...I watch him suffer. It tears my heart apart. And there's nothing I can do to take his pain away. That protective cloak I naively believed could shield him from every trauma lies crumpled on the floor at my feet.

Motherhood brings out exceptional strength in me. No task is too small or sacrifice too great. In my mind's eye, I can see myself jumping in front of an oncoming train to save their lives. In my imagination, I can always save the day.

But when my son is suffering more pain than he ever has before, I can't protect him. All I can offer is a hand to hold as he walks the road that lies before him.

It's not enough...