A Touchy Subject (Part Five)

Because only in the realms of fiction do the inate powers of parenthood magically transform one into a perfect, loving parent, there was no way to be sure I wasn’t going to have a problem until I put it to the test.  Fortunately, from day one L. slid right past my barriers as if they didn’t exist, because they don’t . . . for him.  With luck this means my son will never be burdened with this particular hang up of mine.

Not that I’m relying on luck, of course.

As I’ve said before, if not here then certainly elsewhere, I never want to be one of those hovering, overprotective parents.  I can’t shield L. from everything, nor should I, otherwise he’ll never grow.  Someday he’ll have to face storms the like I can only imagine right now, and it’s part of my job to make sure he’s prepared when that day comes.

But that day isn’t today. 

Today any storms that want to touch him have to come through me, and nobody, and I mean nobody is going to be alone with my son unless I trust them without question to guard him as if their lives depended on it until the day he’s old enough to open his mouth and tell me anything I need to know, and mature enough to keep his mouth shut about the hidden knife he’ll be carrying . . . just in case.

Alright . . . I might be exaggerating a bit, particularly about the knife, but I figure if I make my point now, there’s less chance of me (or L.) having to make it later.


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