In the Dailies

Certain topics strike fear in the heart of parents. We’re not sure how to explain them or even if we want to talk about them. Do we buy a book? Do we wait for the questions to come? Or do we simply lay it all out of our own initiative? Do we tell the full truth or is it okay to create imaginative explanations? Sex is one of these. The reality of Santa and the Tooth Fairy is another. And let’s not forget homosexuality, which is becoming ever-present even in conservative communities. For us there is another more personal topic: my dad.

Our kids have never met my biological father. I take that back. Ellie met him once at a family wedding, but she was only 10-months-old. I’m sure she doesn’t remember it. Furthermore, even if she did, we made no obvious connection between her and him.

Our kids don’t know anyone who is divorced. They’ve never considered why their granny doesn’t have a husband or why their maternal cousins have a grandfather they don’t share. They haven’t any idea what abuse is, much less rape. And sexual abuse against children? I am absolutely thrilled at their ignorance! How many kids today in American society can boast of such?

But the question remains: how does one explain these things? Especially to young kids who live such a charmed, innocent life?

One of my favorite things about being a parent is the power, as limited as it may be, that I have to protect my children from the childhood I endured. Please understand: my mother is amazing and she did everything she possibly could to give us a safe, wonderful upbringing. She did a wonderful job! But Rick and I have a chance to give our family a fresh start void of all the baggage associated with my family’s dysfunctional past. Our kids can have the life that was stripped from me and my siblings.

Claiming this power, we have intentionally never mentioned my father to our kids. If they ask questions, we answer them, but we’ve never gone out of our way to talk about him. The questions have never come often and never been overly involved. Little things like: “Mommy, what color hair did your daddy have?” or “Mommy, did your daddy teach you to ride a bike?” We’ve never had to get into the messy past. I knew it would come, and I dreaded the day.

Today was that day. Today I couldn’t avoid it. Questions came that made avoidance impossible. Today marks the beginning of a new stage of questioning, a new level of curiosity and understanding, a new level of authenticity and raw truth. Each question led down a path that became stickier and sticker.

“Mommy, where does your daddy live? Why doesn’t he live with Granny? Is she sad that he doesn’t live with her? What’s divorce? Why didn’t they keep their wedding promises? What happened?”

I’m still weighing my answers. It’s difficult to be honest in age-appriate ways without getting too complicated or casting undue blame. Ellie became very upset that Granny would break her marriage vows. She knows those are promises before God and couldn’t imagine her granny ever doing anything to hurt God’s feelings! So I explained as gently as possible that my daddy was a bad man who hurt children. That, of course, led to ask why and how and a load of other questions I wasn’t ready to answer. I simply told her she didn’t need to know right now and that we would talk about it more when she was a little older. (We have talked about sex and good touches and bad touches, but I’m not ready to reveal those details of our family history to someone still oblivious to social boundaries.)

More questions will come. More answers will be required. (Oh, God, help me when they do!) In the meantime, I’m going to rejoice that we made it this far: 2012 days.