For the amazing people I work with.
"Experience Counts"
Today at work, a 5 year old
said to me, quite matter-of-factly,
“Daddy’s trying to kill Mommy.”
And I answered, just as matter-of-factly,
“My daddy tried to kill my mommy, too.
That’s sad and scary when that happens, isn’t it?”
He agreed with a “yeah,” and we sat on a couch.
“What happened to your daddy,” he asked.
That was harder.
“He didn’t take care of himself,
so he died when I was 11.”
Sorry, kid. No relief in that answer.
“What happened to your mommy?”
That was much easier.
“She was free then, and safe,
and raised her children to be strong
and brave and go to college.”
I wanted him to see
that there could be a
good ending to the story.
“You went to college,” he asked.
Go for broke, I thought, and told the truth.
“Yep, I went to college a lot. Now I’m a doctor.”
He showed me the boo boo on his elbow.
I examined it and said,
“But not that kind of doctor—the kind that
thinks and studies. A PhD.”
This child is precocious. Why not
plant an early seed?
Like most, he was unimpressed,
and the conversation turned to
ninjas. “I know a real life ninja,”
I told him. That impressed a bit more.
His mother heard and didn’t interrupt.
He was meeting a fellow witness
who was happy now yet understood
that smart 5 year olds don’t need
whitewash or pity or treacle.
They need straight talk that says
“you’ll be okay someday.”
Later I realized that although we
two share similar shit memories
of violence and mayhem,
there is something very important
we don’t share.
He told a stranger, flat out, his truth.
Even at 5 I would never do that.
What happened at home was secret, private.
I never did tell, not for decades.
So now, unlike most,
I envy that child.
His life is in turmoil, but he’s safe,
in shelter, with adults who care,
who encourage him to talk,
even to a funny lady who plays
detective and ninja with him at the store,
and who tries to match his honesty,
his openness,
so she can heal and be healed.
