Bad Guys

I wasn't afraid of monsters as a little girl.  I didn't fear things that might be hiding in my closet or lurking under the bed. I feared people that could break open through the front door, crawl in through a window or sneak in to the basement.  I was terrified of burglars, paralyzed with fear about murders.  Which is odd, because my parents never let us watch anything violent- heck, they didn't watch anything violent themselves that I know of- and I don't remember watching the news.  Where on earth did this stuff come from?

As an adult, I'm not a whole lot better.  Call it unrealistic fears, call it a bit of clinical anxiety, but catastrophic thinking comes in waves and can sometimes pull me into a tunnel of worry and grief. I hate watching violence on TV because I can't let go of the images I see.  At times they play over and over in my head, along with news stories and newspaper headlines, and it causes me to be desperately sad.

I just now tucked Oliver into bed, and it was a normal routine until he asked me where the bad guys live.  "There are no bad guys," I shrugged, trying to get him to transition out of imagination and into sleep. "There are no bad guys and they don't live anywhere."  Um....not helpful.  It's no surprise that Oliver was not satisfied with my vague answer, so he reiterated his question over and over, adamant to find out where bad guys live.  I finally answered that some live in houses or other places, and most of them live in jail.  And in jail, I capitalized, they have lots of locks and bars and guards with superpowers and so they can never escape. "But," he went on, his face looking more serious now, "bad guys are really strong so they can just kick down the door." I assured them they couldn't, ignoring the voice in my head reminding me that they usually get out at some point.  "So some are in jail...but some are in houses?"  Ugh.  I was hoping he had forgotten that part.  "Yeahbutthentheygetcaughtandthen, then they go to jail."  (ignoring another voice challenging me just how many bad guys were on the street and not in jail). "Oh," Oliver said.  He then looked over to a poster on his door of Spiderman, who was in the center of the picture but surrounded by his infamous comic book villains. "So those bad guys can't come off the page?"  And this is where my heart quivered and threatened to break in half.  Oliver is not a fearful kid, and this is the first I've seen him this worried. "Nonononononononono, they're just drawings, they can't ever, ever, ever, ever come alive. It's impossible. They're just pretend."  Oliver beamed with relief.  "Oh!" he said with realization, and let out a nervous giggle when I reminded him that Jesus, the ultimate superhero, was always with him to keep him safe. 

And while I can guarantee that Jesus is with him, and I can guarantee that those drawings will not come to life...I can never guarantee that Oliver, or Charlie, will be safe.  Bad things happen.   Horrible things happen.   Bad guys are everywhere.  The students in Newtown, Connecticut were no doubt told things similar to what I just told Oliver on nights when they were afraid of the dark.  Cue parental anxiety.  I'm also scared that Oliver has inherited from me, along with his birthmark, ability to curl his tongue, and eczema, a tendency to fixate on the bad guys in this world.  So I'll continue to stretch the truth in exchange for his peace, and pray for my own to come.