My little soldiers...

I sometimes feel, as I say goodbye to my munchkins in the morning, that I am sending them out to the wolves. I think every mother wants her young ones to have some sort of protective bubble surround them at every moment; protection from danger, from hurt feelings, from a fall on the play ground, from the evils that abound. I think if we women were to design childhood, we would have our kids wrapped in some sort of environmentally safe, color-coordinated bubble wrap. We would watch them play at the park in some kind of happy, slow motion, ballet of giggles and love. Instead, we send them to school (even though we KNOW there has got to be a better system out there for learning) knowing full well that they will encounter the frustrations of the classroom, the drama amongst their peers and the hurts of everyday growing up. Let's not even think about what could happen... the abductions, lurking perverts, peer bullying, etc. But the everyday goings-on of the school yard and what happens to the little fish in the little pond that is my child at school.
Every day, each one puts on his backpack, heavy with books and a lunch he has made himself and enters a gated commune of fellow students and teachers. Chances are he will be told what to do and how quickly to do it in a sharp and course manner, barked at rather than redirected and patted on the back for what he does right. Chances are he will hear very little positive praise, instead reminded of rules and consequences; "Slow down!" "Take out your binders!" "That's enough!". Chances are he will get very little time for recess, never getting to use his body and imagination in the way they were created and intended for (play!). Chances are he will get little help if he doesn't understand an assignment, and if he is actually ahead in class, chances are he will just be told to sit down and refrain from distracting the others. Chances are that most of his peers are already pressuring him to make out, choose a sexual identity, drink, smoke or loiter around some park or mall, buy the latest video game or identify himself with the current tween pop star just entering/exiting rehab. Chances are that I have sent my kids to a place just as punitive and restrictive as our prisons; or at best, a military boot camp. My kids then come home to do their chores, complete their homework and play outside (before it gets too hot and that pleasure, too, is removed for the next 6 months) all with a cheerful disposition. Even here at home, the wolves circle around, hoping to be let in through the internet or TV programs.
And so, I think to myself at about 10 minutes to 4, when I know they will be through my door any minute, "How can I make this a soft place to fall? How can I fill their little cups which have run on such emptiness for the last 8 hours?" I try to smile, to ask them about their day, to be positive, interested and undistracted. I try to remember how much bravery it would take for me if I were the one asked to daily face a world where I was physically smaller, wholly less-experienced and most assuredly in the least control of every situation I found myself in.
I respect my children; the warriors of my womb who so bravely confront these challenges with a smile; those smiles I live for. I owe them my respect and my admiration. And I ponder why some mom hasn't found a way to bubble wrap the heart.