The War on Childhood.
We moms have so much that terrifies us. From within our babes’ own plush, cocoon-like cribs — why don’t I hear anything on the monitor? OMG, are they even still breathing?! — to the many dangers that exist all over our carefully curated homes, like stairs, and outlets and, gasp — the “gauntlet of despair” known as the kitchen — to all the evils of the world that seek to cause our children harm, like speeding cars through grocery store parking lots and mean bullies on the playground.
But it’s a hot-kind-of-mess of a world that we live in where we have to add lunatics shooting up children in school, of all places — institutions designed to nurture and grow our kids — to the list of things that absolutely terrify us day in and day out.
Today marks three years since the devastation we now simply refer to as “Sandy Hook.” That’s really all it takes, right? The mere mention of the town the unthinkable happened in, to elicit instantly-welled eyes from any parent. That poor town will never again be known as anything but the home of the ultimate tragedy. They might as well just close up shop. They’ve been branded. For life.
When those children died at the hands of a lunatic wielding enough weaponry to start a small army, the world let out a collective gasp — and there was a moment, in the aftermath of it all, our social feeds bloated with sadness and grief and quotes of change, where we assumed we had reached the breaking point and we’d now rebuild, and evolve, and improve.
Three years later, and we’ve fallen so far down the rabbit hole we can barely see the light. We don’t have time to rebuild, because destruction comes daily. We can’t evolve because we are a nation divided; morals vs. antiquated amendments. We can’t improve because we’re mourning too often now to get past the stage of grief.
And forget about how hard it is on us parents; let’s think about the kids for a minute. “Back in my day,” the biggest threat was that bully on the playground who wanted to kick dirt in my face. But now? Our kids are being hardened to the likes of lock-down drills and cramming into closets to hide from terrorists. (And yes, they’re fucking terrorists.) Innocence is being shed. Just as easily as we disregard environmental concerns while we quite literally watch the ice caps melt on live-streamed social feeds, we are disregarding the irreversible damage to our children by stripping them of their rights to feel safe; in their homes, in their streets, in their classrooms.
Every time I see a post in my feed from my Moms Demand Action group I have a moment of respite; a moment of confidence that we can — and will — change the course we’re on. And then as quickly as it comes, it’s gone. Replaced by another sensationalized headline of mass casualty and horror.
When will we learn?
Tonight, as I stare at photos of those children who walked into school this day three years ago to build gingerbread houses and giggle with their friends and read stories with teachers in rocking chairs, and who never got the chance to leave — never got the chance to run into the arms of their terrified parents who spent day in and day out leading up to that day worrying about the dangers of life around them just like the rest of us parents, I am reminded of how goddamn lucky I feel to have survived another day with my kids. And I send love to Sandy Hook.
Want to be part of the change? Connect with other moms who want a better, safer future for our kids by joining Moms Demand Action today.
