I often wonder why adults seem to believe that they have to shelter children from truth. I suppose that I feel this way because I was confronted with great tragedies when I was five and then again at the age of eight. Each of these experiences was a bit different but both of them impacted my personality and sense of trust and safety.
The first incident involved my Uncle Bob, my father’s best friend. I was in awe of my uncle. He was stunningly handsome and just as interesting and brilliant as my father was. The two men had attended high school together in Corpus Christi, Texas and then began studies at what was then called Texas A&M College.
Uncle Bob majored in Geology, played on the tennis team, and climbed mountains searching for samples of rocks. My father focused on Mechanical Engineering and preferred hobbies like fishing, reading, and listening to music. When they were together they almost completed each other’s sentences the way only the best of friends are able to do. Our home was at its happiest when they were laughing and enjoying each other’s company.
Bob became my uncle after my parents contrived to play matchmaker between him and my mother’s sister Claudia. Together they were a stunningly beautiful couple. In fact a friend of mine once mistook them for movie stars when they came to visit.
Neither my father nor Uncle Bob treated me like a clueless child. They taught me about adult topics by explaining concepts with examples that made sense to my childlike wonder. They introduced me to many topics and I adored both of them because of that.
My memories of Uncle Bob are vivid but still those of a very young child. Because I loved him so I looked forward to his visits to our home when he and my aunt spent the night and then always took me on special outings. On one occasion I was so anxious for the promises of the day that I walked into their room as they were dressing for our planned adventure. I should not have been so bold but I felt incredibly comfortable with both of them. To my surprise I encountered Uncle Bob attaching a wooden leg to his upper thigh. It was such a stunning sight that I immediately gasped and turned to run out of the room.
Uncle Bob gently called me back and asked me if I wanted to know why he needed a wooden leg. Of course I was curious, so I asked a flood of questions, each of which Uncle Bob calmly and honestly answered. By the end of the encounter I knew that he had a serious disease called cancer and that his leg was taken in an attempt to stop the cancer from moving to other parts of his body. He assured me that he was okay and feeling good about the future but he informed me that the cancer might return and if it did he and the doctors would work to defeat it again. He urged me not to worry but rather to do as he was doing, enjoying each day to the fullest.
Uncle Bob did not make it. The return of his cancer was part of the reason that my mother and father sent me to the first grade when I was five. Our household was turned upside down by Uncle Bob’s situation. My parents whispered with my aunt and said little about what was really happening. They did not know that Uncle Bob had prepared me for this. I understood the consequences, so when he died I was able to grieve and remember the truths he had told me. I have never forgotten how wonderfully safe I felt because he had not tried to shelter me. To this very day I feel the comfort of his loving honesty.
Three years later my father was killed suddenly in a car accident. That time none of the adults spoke to me about what had happened except for my Aunt Valeria who broke the news to me with grace and compassion. Much like Uncle Bob had done she honored me with truth. While I was crushed with sadness I needed to know what had happened. It would have done me no good to pretend that I was too young to grasp the enormity of how different my life was going to be. Somehow I reverted back to the discussion of death and how unafraid of it my Uncle Bob had been as my Aunt Valeria consoled me.
I see so many adults attempting to keep children ignorant of difficulties. They assume that little ones can’t handle the truth. They don’t want anyone discussing slavery or mistreatment of Native Americans lest the youngster might feel a bit of guilt. They try to paint rosy pictures of life that do not include tragedies or any of the realities that we all will face at some point in our lives. I find such sheltering to be misplaced because I know that I would have been confused and distrustful if not for the truthfulness of both Uncle Bob and Aunt Valeria when I lost two of the most cherished and important people in my life. Theirs was a compassionate and truthful way of teaching me that tragedies are part of every person’s journey and it is okay to have difficult emotions but there will be better times ahead.
Children need to know these things. Done properly it will make them stronger and more secure. Give your children shelter by your honesty, not by pretending. They can see what is true and if nobody has explained what is going on they will be afraid.
All It Takes Is A Little Love 