Wings to Fly

This week my life changed forever. The cozy little cocoon I have woven the last 5 years is going to be broken open, whether almost imperceptibly, strand by strand, or in a handful of recognizable blows. Jake started kindergarten.

Call me melodramatic. I know, I know. The word “kindergarten” draws up mental images of finger painting five-year-olds and other benign scenes. But along the way he will hear words and be introduced to ideas he’s never heard in our sheltered four walls. Recently we became aware of the fact that a boy in our neighborhood who goes to that school has pornography on his phone and tries to share it with other boys. Pornography. There aren’t many more terrifying words for the mother of a young boy.

What will Jake be exposed to next week, next month, next year, or sometime during his mortal journey here on earth? I don’t know. All I know is that something deep within whispers that the goal of parenting isn’t to forever shelter, and thus cripple, my children. If it were, a loving Father wouldn’t have sent us here. Parenting is about preparing my children to choose joy and, in the process, giving them wings to fly.