The Fear of Our Children

A Lori Tale

Author’s note: It has been my custom, when thinking about difficult issues, to bring to mind the view of a child, and how, perhaps, they feel or see things. Lori has been a muse for many years, through good times and bad. Now, with new grandchildren, I give her more voice in my head and more space in my heart.

A Lori Tale.

I’m sitting on a bench. It’s late afternoon in Petaluma. A light breeze languishes, overturning oak leaves outside Saint Vincent de Paul Roman Catholic Church, their colors cast in shades of faded mint and ember gold.

Mr. Harry, what are you doing here?

Lori? Where did you appear from? This is the last place I expected to think about you.

I thought you forgot about me, Mr. Harry. I guess you’ve been busy.

No, child, I could never forget about you, never. I suppose my mind has been elsewhere. I’m sorry. Come up here, let’s sit together.

Lori skips up onto the bench beside me. It’s been a hectic few months spent away from the ocean. I’m never myself, not balanced, away from the shore.

Mr. Harry, do you know how frightened I get?

Her question’s frankness catches my breath. I know fear. I was once frightened; frightened that the love of a new family protecting me was something that might as quickly disappear. It never did.

Do you feel frightened, Lori?

When I call and you don’t answer, Mr. Harry.

How many times do we not hear the call? I was a rebellious kid, giving mother some heartache. I would sulk then skulk off to my room and lie there, imagining my bed to be a yacht, sailing under a ceiling of blue, into a star-dusted night. I grew up different to other kids. Not so erect, crooked, bent by the fates, each sorrow etched on my face so deep, the kind of crevices vultures leave on their prey. Leaving childhood far behind, I have within my grasp the perpetual honor of teaching my grandchildren things which sterile textbooks can only dream of imparting — what it took, what it means to be caring.

I take Lori into my arms, hug her tightly. What do our children hope? What can they expect from us? My thoughts turn to the Capitol, three thousand miles away, imagining back to a time when the sun set on an oppressive British empire and a new, promising light dawning upon an infant nation based in freedom and liberty…as it of right ought to be. In 1852, in a speech before the Massachusetts Antislavery Society, abolitionist Wendell Phillips said, “Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.” I do my best to remain vigilant for my grandchildren and try to quietly teach them the same.

We must do whatever it takes to keep that same Capitol light on.

Finally, exhaustion allows Lori to rest in sleep. To hold a child is to hold innocence. To watch her sleeping is to watch a world without pain. Fear has left her face.

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