Yesterday I was reading about the controversy surrounding Roald Dahl’s books and the general concept of editing children’s books to make them more “appropriate.” My personal opinion is that we shouldn’t edit or ban books, but that’s not what I’m writing about this morning. As I dove in, reading both sides of the argument, I was drawn into other articles about the current furor about drag queens reading to kids and trans people, well, existing, and I started to see a common thread. In all these arguments for banning, editing, restricting freedom, etc. Almost all of them at some point say, “We need to protect the children!”

Reading that phrase over and over got me thinking about my job as a mother and I discovered something about myself: I almost never see my primary role as protecting my children.

Generally, I believe my primary role fluxes between making sure they know how deeply I love them/how worthy they are of that love and giving them information about how to navigate the world effectively. Protecting them really only becomes a priority in the presence of an immediate threat. Having read all of Roald Dahl’s books as a child, having seen numerous, amazing drag shows, and having met several trans people, I can’t find a single threat to my children there. Honestly, children who haven’t been taught to hate anyone make some of the very best teachers in how to treat people who are different from them–with curiosity, an open mind, and an open heart. The real threats to our kids are often things we can’t protect them from at all.

I mean, I have managed to save my kids from death and/or disaster a time or three, but I wasn’t able to protect my daughter from being bullied at school earlier this year. I wasn’t able to protect her from the pain and confusion she felt over the death of her beloved dog, Orion. And I wasn’t able to protect any of my three children from the chaos of the pandemic that swept through our world, destroying our routines and social connections.

What I was able to do, was support my daughter at home by talking about why bullies do what they do, who could help her at school, and giving her strategies for making good friends. When Orion died, I wasn’t able to prevent the hurt, but I was able to be honest with her, cry with her, and show her ways we can grieve and honor the ones we love when they have to leave us. And through the pandemic, I couldn’t make their lives stay the same, but I was able to show all of my kids how to let go of what’s familiar, even when it’s so hard, and find new ways to connect with others and enjoy life as it is for however long it needs to be that way.

So yeah, I would fight and die for my children in a heartbeat, but my job is not to protect them from what’s inside a book, it’s to talk with them about what they read in books. My job is not to raise them to be afraid of what they don’t understand, it’s to help them understand what they’re afraid of. My job is not to use politics to wrap them up in a cozy illusion of sameness, but to show them the beauty and fun that can be found in our differences.

I’m not here to protect them from the world, I’m here to give it to them, in all it’s flawed, frightening, difficult, beautiful, awe-inspiring glory, along with the love and tools they need to survive, connect with others, and enjoy themselves here.

Alright, folks, it’s time for me to switch things up a bit. My writing has been awfully heavy of late, and I need a break to feel a little lighter and brighter. To that end, it’s time to tell a story that is, without question, my favorite story to tell. It’s about my dad, who tried to get me to promise to never tell it to anyone, but instead, I promised to share it every chance I ever get. So I’d be remiss not to share it here where literally anyone can read it! (If you don’t know him, don’t worry, his sense of humor is top notch and I have his permission to share.)

I was fifteen years old and had just walked home from school. As I opened the front door, I could hear my parents arguing, which was pretty rare, so I was going to just slip in quietly and go around the kitchen through the living room to my bedroom. But the minute I came in, dad threw up his hands and stormed out of the kitchen and my mom heaved a big sigh. She was standing at the stove stirring something and didn’t look at me when she said, “Jesse, I have a question for you.” She sounded serious, so I braced myself, but nothing could have prepared me for what she asked:

“Do you have a pair of crotchless underwear?”

It took me a minute to process her words. I’d never even seen a pair of crotchless underwear, much less worn them!

“No!” I yelled. “Gross!”

She finally looked at me, but her expression was concerned. “I told your dad I didn’t think so, but I guess he was folding laundry and it was mostly yours and he says he found a pair of crotchless underwear.”

I opened my mouth to tell her they were absolutely NOT mine, but before I could get a single word out, my dad stormed back into the kitchen, holding up the offending article of clothing, red-faced and yelling, “ARE THESE YOURS?!?!?”

All was silent for a solid five seconds.

Then mom and I started laughing. We laughed so hard we cried. We laughed so hard we could barely breathe. We literally rolled on the kitchen floor laughing. All the while my dad, still extremely upset, kept yelling, “WHAT?! WHAT?! THIS ISN’T FUNNY!”

Apparently, he had only told mom about the undies, he hadn’t actually shown them to her. If he had, she would have probably done what I did then. Still laughing and crying and trying to breathe, I got up off the floor, walked up to him, and flipped what he was holding right side up, so he could see it was, in fact, not crotchless underwear, but rather my sports bra for basketball . . . which he had been holding upside down . . .

He took a moment to process what he was seeing, then immediately said, “Don’t tell anyone! Promise me you won’t tell anyone!” but mom and I both assured him we would, indeed, be telling everyone. : )

So there you go, my very favorite story to tell. I hope you had a good laugh and I hope you’ll help my mom and I keep our promise by sharing it!