Yesterday I read an article about a study in Japan that determined that eating ice cream for breakfast may increase mental sharpness and response time. Regardless of the study’s validity, I thought it would be fun to surprise my kids with ice cream for breakfast. I imagined the stunned look on their faces when they came to the table and instead of cereal, or toast, or eggs, they found a bowl of ice cream.“Are you serious?” one of them would ask.“We get to eat ice cream for breakfast?” another would say.My six-year-old daughter would just giggle, run to her room to get the tiny spoon I brought home from work last night, and dive in.And then I forgot about it until two minutes before waking them up this morning. I didn’t buy ice cream last night so they didn’t have ice cream this morning.Parental failure.On most days I’d simply shrug it off, buy some ice cream at the store tonight, and surprise them tomorrow.But today isn’t most days. It’s December 14.It’s the day four years ago that I first heard the words Sandy Hook and Newtown. The day that twenty first graders, and six staff members who tried to protect them, were murdered.Three of my kids were in school then. My sons bookended first grade, one in kindergarten, one in second grade. In the days that followed, the pictures of those kids looked like kids I had coached in little league, kids we saw at the park, kids who lived in our neighborhood.Often when tragedies like that happen, people think, “I didn’t think it could happen here.” But after seeing those photos, and reading those names—there was Benjamin (my own son’s name), and Madeleine, and Catherine, and Dylan (we knew kids with those names), and sixteen more—I thought, “It could happen here. It could happen anywhere.”The thought of it can be crippling. It makes me want to lock the doors, home school my kids, and tell them that there’s nothing in the outside world that they really need.But I can’t do that, of course. Not only wouldn’t it be practical, but it would cheat them of the kind of life that I want for them. Prevent them from experiencing all of the impossibly amazing and good things the world has to offer.It would make them a different kind of victim.So we let them go to school. We let them go out into the world. And we try to hide how truly terrifying it is to be a parent sometimes. We keep them close, while letting them go. We try figure out how to hug them tight, while at the same time encouraging them to explore. We try to warn them of the world, but not make them scared of it.And I think about those twenty kids often. Not just on December 14. But every single time I go to my children’s school in the middle of the day. And on those wonderful days when I’m home to pick them up from school. And during holiday concerts and awards programs. And on the first day of school. And the last day of school. And next Thursday, when my kids are brimming with excitement for their holiday parties at school.I have no choice but to transfer my grief for those twenty children into gratitude for my own, or I risk being consumed. But the grief makes the gratitude more acute. More tangible.
But still I think of those children. Twenty of them. Twenty. That’s so many. The logo for Sandy Hook Promise, an organization whose mission is to prevent gun-related deaths, is a tree in which green handprints are the leaves. The first time I saw the logo I thought, “There are so many handprints.” Turns out there’s one small handprint for each of the twenty children, and one large handprint for each of the six adults.Twenty. Ugh.I’m thinking of them today. I’ll read about them. I’ll look at their pictures.Then, tonight I’ll tuck in my own children, and breathe a sigh of relief that they’re safe at home, in their beds.And tomorrow morning, I won’t forget the ice cream.Click here to receive an e-mail each time I write a new post! Guaranteed spam-free, unsubscribe any time IF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: Dear Guns,PREVIOUS POST: Tips to Make Your Sledding Experience More Fun