Love is love is love is love is love

“You know how you want to be a police officer when you grow up…?”

“Does anybody at your school get treated differently than other kids…?”

“How do you feel about fighting…?”

“What can you tell me about guns…?”

How the hell am I supposed to talk to my kid about the current state of our world? Where do I start the conversation? Is it going to scare him? How can I put it into terms he will understand? He’s only 7.

This afternoon on a solitary Target run, I quickly read my news feed in the checkout line. “2-year old killed in North Minneapolis shooting. 15-month old seriously injured.”

And right then and there it happened. I cried. Finally. I honestly don’t know what took me so long. There have been so many reasons to cry in the past 48 hours that I’m shocked I’d let it build up as long as I had. These were babies. Innocent babies. Caught in the crossfire of senseless violence. There is no explanation or reasoning that could possibly condone such an act. None. So, I cried. For them and for our world.

Babies. Innocent black men. Officers just doing their jobs. Murder. Abuse. Ignorance. Guns. So many stupid mothereffing guns. Mental illness. Inappropriate commentary. Blame. Pro- this. Anti- that. Small minded opinions. Fear. Death. Guilt. Excuses. Stupidity. Misunderstandings. Scary. It’s all just so scary.

So I cried in front of my cashier as he confusedly scanned my yogurt. I headed to my car, my head spinning. All I could think about were my kids. They have an entire lifetime of this to live. It can’t be this way for them. I have to tell them about it! They have to know!

When I got home, my 7-year old son was outside playing basketball by himself. I dumped my groceries on the kitchen table and headed out back and clapped my hands commanding the ball from him. He tossed it my way and I took a shot, rebounded, then silently passed it back to him. He took a shot. Rebounded. And silently passed it back to me. I shot. Rebounded. And silently passed it back to him. We went on like this for a few minutes. I couldn’t tell you how he knew that, in that moment, silence and time with him doing something we both love was incredibly important, but he did. And my mind continued to spin, thinking about the direction to take to start this dreadful conversation.

Nothing came out. I simply shot him a loving smile, threw him back his basketball and walked into the house. I gave my husband an earful, although this time it had turned from sadness to anger. I was mad that I even had to consider having such hard discussions with my kid. I was livid that people were bad people. My ever-optimistic better half told me post-rant, “There’s still more good in the world than there is bad.” Dammit, man. Stop being right. But also, show me the news about the helpers, the good people, the ones who want to make a difference. And just like that, I opened a story about a circle of strangers who surrounded a baby stroller in the midst of the Dallas sniper shootings. That’s the good. There is good. Just like Mr. Rogers said, there is good in the bad times. There are always helpers. It’s just so hard to see them when they’re clouded by tragedy.

My son finished playing ball and came in the house to get ready for the movie night he was promised. He and I piled into the car and headed to the theater. I was excited to eat popcorn and share an Icee with my little man, but I still wanted to have “the talk” before we got there. I drove and asked him about life. He willingly told me about friends and kickball and swimming and the most recent fight he got into with his sister. Only twice did I prompt an introduction to my intended discussion. “Coen, how do you feel about guns?” and “Coen, do any of your friends say anything bad about other people?” I was stumbling. It was so hard. I learned that he knows to tell an adult if he finds a gun and that his friend Leo once told him their teacher had a big butt. So, there’s that. Not much to go on.

So we went to the movie. Exasperated and with a perpetual spinning head, I sat next to him and tried to settle in to release the tension from the day. We giggled about our Icee-induced freeze headaches and pretend-fought over our small bag of popcorn. He was the perfect date and the perfect gentleman.

Halfway through the movie, when our tummies hurt from all the junk we’d consumed, he leaned into my seat and grabbed my pointer finger. He laid there against my shoulder for the rest of the movie, the whole time clutching my finger. Now that was the distraction I needed! I felt love. And innocence. And peace. And all the feelings I hadn’t felt in the past 48 hours due to awful news stories and horror and sadness.

So how did I talk to my son about the current state of the world?

Well, I didn’t.

He’s young and innocent and accepting of all people. He’s loved and loving and accepting of all people. He’s sweet and respectful and accepting of all people. He doesn’t need it right now. He needs to be a 7-year old boy who cares about basketball and swimming. He needs to know how proud I am of him for being accepting of all people. He hears those words often. “I’m so proud of you.” And he beams. And that’s that. For now. For 7.

I did ask him one question as we pulled down our street.

“Hey Co, what’s the single most important thing you can do in this world to make it a better place?”

“Be nice to people,” he responded without hesitation.

Amen, little man. Amen.

……

And when he’s a little older and I’m ready to introduce him to all of this business, we’re going to focus on fixing the problem and being part of the change. And I already have my opening line ready for when that day comes (thanks to my beautiful sister for this post today, which I’m stealing and keeping forever):

“We are all in this together, guys. Don’t be an asshole. Love is love is love is love is love…”