Once upon a time

June 18th is always the beginning of an awkward time for me and this year it appears to be digging in its heels and refusing to go away. It is an old story, way back from 1968, but it has changed my life in ways I will never be able to explain to anyone.

Children accept almost everything as long as someone makes it seem okay, or ordinary, or inescapable, but we try to protect our children so they don't have to experience the bad things, at least the bad things as we know them.

In my day mothers did this with fear, keep the children afraid of things you don't want them to do. Fathers, or at least my father, left rearing children to the mother. I've often thought this was a shame because my father would address anything I asked him, quietly and directly, but my mother's tactics made me afraid to even talk about some things. Within the confines of our family that worked out pretty well.

But outside the family, in the places you go after leaving home, these methods are woefully short sighted. Lacking information makes one vulnerable. How do you avoid the red epar if you don't even know exactly what it or its counterpart is? You know enough to be frightened when you enter the garden, but you don't have the skills necessary to defend yourself.

In my case I made up stories and pretended falling prey to it was a glorious thing. In fact, I risked the rest of my life on it, because I didn't know any different. But I did know I wanted more for my children, so instead of filling them with fear I tried to fill them with facts. I hope it worked.

Love is not fear, or coercion. Innocence cannot be maintained with ignorance.

I think things are more out in the open today, but taboos are not the same thing as information and they don't make bad things okay no matter how nice the fairy tale sounds. And they certainly are not the basis for happily ever after.