"Daddy killed mommy," the 3-year-old girl told Orlando police. The father then killed himself and this young child spent the night sleeping by her dead dad's side.
After an involuntary, audible gasp and a chest-heaving cry, I thought about whether this girl will ever be fortunate enough to forget the events of that horrible night. Perhaps she will, as many 3-year-olds can't remember life events, even especially happy ones. Of course, this one was a lulu. How will she survive the shattering of all that her life entailed -- a mother and a father?
The news report didn't provide any other details. The bottom line was sufficient. I pray that she has relatives whom she knows well and who can take her into a new secure family setting immediately.
My next feeling was one of introspection. What does this tragedy teach us? What does sleeping next to a body signify? It means the obvious.
Despite a child's age or circumstances, he or she craves parental connection. That's not always apparent as children often fuss and fight over any sort of direction or advice. Yet this little girl's heart-aching night with her daddy is tragic testimony to how she was trying desperately to cling to an irrevocably lost family bond.
I don't know her race, economic background, or sibling status. All that pales in comparison to the circumstances facing her now. All I know is that this should scream loudly to parents that our kids need us and need us dearly.
Although this little girl's experience is an example in the extreme, it shows how much children want to be with their parents. We can't forget that our kids always look towards us, wanting support, discipline, love, and caring. Even when we're in conflict, which happens increasingly as our children age, and peaks during the teenage years, our offspring need to know that we're engaged in their lives, even if it contradicts their momentary desires and interests.
I was shocked when my adult child said how much he admired my being there for him and providing guidance, which often was at odds with his wishes. All the anger and angst was worth it after all. He validated, in a much less dramatic manner than this little girl, that our children need us near and always.
For all the head-butting months and years that my son and I had, it's clear now that he valued my "interference." Parenting is synonymous with interference, if it's done correctly. Some people will cringe at that. It's not intended to be negative, although in our free-wheeling, nobody's responsible society, many people would view such close parenting as heavy-handed and wrong.
Let's not argue the limits of what constitutes close or overbearing parenting. Upon some objective reflection, one thing's evident. The risk of being a detached parent is far greater than being an overly involved one. Children are great at fuming and venting. They'll seem greatly offended by your oversight. But they'll forgive that sooner than they'll forgive your being absent.
Our tragic little girl illustrates that in a very graphic way. Even though her dad did the unpardonable and took away her mother, the girl seemingly forgave him that grave sin and tried incredibly to maintain some form of parent-child link. We can debate what real level of understanding a little girl this age could have or how effectively she could evaluate her options. But we can't ignore the raw meaning behind her tenacity in spending what must have been a brutally long evening with a father unable to console, comfort or hold her.
Parents know how difficult and frustrating our jobs are. Being unappreciated is one of the job's main duties. Don't despair. Our reward is there, albeit many years in the future. We own the consummate teaching assignment. Neither student nor teacher knows, sometimes until decades later, whether success was achieved.
For all their crying and carping, kids want and need us. The fact that our behavior disappoints and embarrasses them occasionally is small potatoes compared to their knowing that we'll always be there to embarrass them. It's our job.
Stay the course.
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Fred W. Apelquist, III, M.Ed.
Approximately 690 words.
© 2001