Too Close to Home

It's a retort that people offer when defending dangerous behavior, or making an argument to seize the day: "well, you can die crossing the street". But we don't actually expect it to happen. Not here in NYC, a place where pedestrians are everywhere, and motorists are trained (one hopes) to look out for them. No one should have to worry about dying while doing something we all do--by necessity--dozens of times each day.

For one nine-year-old named Cooper Stock, who lived just blocks from us, life ended steps from his own front stoop this past weekend. Crossing the street with his father Friday evening, Cooper was run over by a taxi and killed. 

Hearing this unspeakable news shook me. An acquaintance lives on that corner and heard the father's loud, terrible screams. Three blocks away, I didn't hear the father's screams myself. But I could feel his pain nonetheless. I can't imagine. And yet I do. Yes, there are tragedies that take place every day, in places far and near. But this is our home. 

Crossing the street with children is one of those things that city parents learn to manage from day one. Even pushing a stroller makes the experience different: you can't poke your head out into the street to see if a car is coming when your stroller is out in front of you. As with many aspects of going places with a baby, you relax your timetable and learn to be more patient. You also learn to be defensive when necessary: you stare down the aggressive taxi driver who is inching out into the crosswalk. You teach your children, as soon as they can walk, the meaning of the "walking man" and the "stop hand". You tell them they must hold your hand in the street. Then, you teach them how to cross themselves: watch the lights and the traffic, don't run, be aware.

I have to say that I felt a sick relief when I learned that Cooper Stock was crossing with his dad. That's because had he been alone, there would be some who would automatically blame the child, and assume that it was his inexperience that allowed the terrible accident to occur. And then, by extension, there would be a clamp-down effect, where parents would be discouraged from trusting their kids to cross the street. I still believe that many 9-year-olds, including my own, are capable of crossing the street on their own. If anything, this accident reminds us that we can't protect our children from the roll of the dice that is life. 

No one should have to worry about dying from crossing the street. Saying that makes it sounds like I'm angry at someone--that there is some systemic failing at fault. But, while I support recent efforts to slow down traffic in this city to protect pedestrians, it's unclear whether such efforts would have saved this boy. The taxi driver, no doubt, was negligent. He wasn't looking; he didn't see them. Perhaps he was in a rush, thinking of something else. He did not flee the scene; reports say he was in shock.

 How terrible. Life is fragile. Life can end as oddly and unexpectedly as it sometimes begins.

Today I'm crying for Cooper, a local third grader whom I didn't know, and hoping his family can come to terms, one day, with their loss. 

On Being News Interpreter to My Kids

I'm no news junkie, but this has been one of those weeks when it's almost impossible to pull oneself away from the news. Even now as I write this, I'm refreshing the New York Times web site every few minutes to find out if my Boston neighbors can let out their breath. I'm still holding mine.

And at the same time, it's been hard to listen to, watch, or read the news with my curious, observant kids present. "What happened?" I was asked this morning, as I was desperately trying to listen to Morning Edition to find out, myself, what happened in Boston overnight. Desperately, because of the apparent urgency--the way in which it was clear that the radio hosts didn't know themselves exactly what was happening--and also, because my kids kept interrupting me with their own questions. Bella asked me turn off the radio so I could explain to her the news that I had barely been able to hear or digest.

Kids think we know. Not only are we supposed to know what's happening, but we're supposed to filter the news to them in a sensitive way that makes them feel safe. The National Association of School Psychologists says to: 

• 1) Be careful what little eyes see and ears hear. Children are less able to handle the intensive, detailed coverage of an event.
• 2) Reassure children that they are safe. Remind them that trustworthy people are in charge and helping.
• 3) Maintain a normal routine. Model calm and control.
• 4) Stick to the facts. Don't stereotype people that might be associated with violence.
• 5) Keep the lines of communication open. Be aware of children's emotional state.

It used to be I tried very hard not to let my kids know when bad things were happening in the news. Here's when I admit that this week, I mostly gave up.

 Last night, after the surveillance videos of the bombing suspects were released, I spent a few minutes scrutinizing the videos online, bewildered by the very unprecedented nature of such a manhunt. "Who are they?" Bella asked, before I could even get to the bottom of the article. And so began a conversation about suspects and manhunts and surveillance videos and many, many questions to the effect of, "but HOW did they know it was those two guys? Out of all the people who were there?"

 I wanted to say: "You'll understand better when you're old enough to watch Homeland, honey." It's when real life is full of the stuff of grown-up TV, that parents get tested. 

This was the week, too, when I had to explain to my daughters that the US Senate had failed to pass the gun control measures that are needed to change the culture of guns and increase safety in our nation. We as a family have written letters, started and signed petitions, and attended rallies to show our support for these measures. And I was left having to explain to my kids about the NRA, and about some Americans' love affair with weapons, and about the way political campaigns work. I also told them that there are a lot of people who care deeply about gun safety, including our president, and that hopefully change will yet come.

At the time of this writing there are 12 people confirmed dead, with at least 40 still missing after the fertilizer plant explosion in West, Texas. Somehow, with all that's happened this week, I don't think my kids know about this terrible tragedy, yet. If and when they ask about it, I will tell them what I know, and how I feel: sick with sorrow.

Perhaps all we can ever do, as parents, is be ourselves.