Child

I'm not going to try and sound pompous and superior or even like I know anything at all, this is my disclaimer.

Today we had people come in and talk to our year 12s about road trauma and driving safely and being good young people with new licences. A quadraplegic. A paramedic. A police officer. A man with severe acquired head injury. And a man that talked about his son dying, over 12 years ago, when he was in Year 11. A few people died in that car crash.

And this wasn't the only car crash that they talked about.

But afterwards, when I talked to other teachers that were present, we all were affected by different aspects of the 70 minute presentation.

The job roles. The affect on families. The images of kids in pieces hanging out of the cars. The cars smashed up against trees, power poles, trucks, other cars. The images of funerals. And of white crosses and flowers taped to trees.

The bit that got me, was the man's son. And not because his son died. It was completely selfish. I was wishing, hoping, praying to a God I don't even believe in that my son would be safe. That nothing that awful would ever happen to him. But that man, thought the same about his own son. I'm sure.

We are oblivious.

And now I'm a parent.

I've sped before. I've texted when I'm driving. I've been in a car where I was scared. I've been in the car when the driver's been drug/alcohol/rage affected. I did dumb stuff.

The Bean will do dumb stuff.

Kids do dumb stuff.

How do we keep them safe?

I would never have understood the absolute pain in this man's voice when he talked about his lost son until I'd had The Bean myself. And here is where the disclaimer takes effect, I don't think anyone that hasn't had kids can imagine that. I don't think that these kids, and let's be honest, although some are 18, they're still kids, have any idea of that kind of concept. The hugeness that is losing, or even the thought of losing, your child.

At 18, they're still kids. At 17, which is what this man's son was, is still a kid. The kids in the car were all silly and made a few mistakes, that ended in the lives of kids being taken away. But they were kids! We were still kids then. Shit, I was a kid until maybe last week in some ways.

Yes, The Bean is a kid. But The Bean is MY kid.

And the moment he was torn out of the whole ripped in my stomach skin (let's be honest, sounds much more dramatic than Emergency Ceasarian Section), my life changed. INSTANTLY.

There was no fire, no passion, nothing else that mattered in the universe but him. There was no issue of bonding for me. There was the issue of severe and complete protection instinct. I'm a Leo, maybe it's my Lioness/Cub thing, but I would tear anything apart with my teeth if it tried to get to him.

That fierce, protection of one's own flesh and blood, literally, is something that you can't describe unless you have felt it before.

I do sound pompous and superior and like I know something, and maybe I do or not, but the love for your child is irrevocable, all comsuming, and I imagine, soul destroying if they were taken away.

How the man had the strength to talk about it, over and over again, is unfathomable.


Things The Bean has said:

Getting into the car from creche.

Me: What IS that on your pants? Is it play dough?
The Bean: No, Mama
(rolls his eyes - no joke, he rolled his eyes at ME)
TB: It's soup - look, here's a noodle.