Momnesia

How to Tell Your Kids About Stranger Danger

AUGUSTA, GA. - Our crazy-ass neighbors gave Emmie a Blow-Pop today. Even though I had specifically told her to stay away from them, that was all it took to regain her good graces. Great. A week ago, they were machete-wielding weirdos. Today: The frickin' candy man.

Later this evening, after I had put her to bed early for acting like a frickin maniac all day, I heard her calling "Hellooo! Hellooo!" and went to check on her. She was standing at her window waving at the neighbors.

"Emmie," I sighed. "I don't want you talking to those people."

"But," she protested, as I tucked her back into bed. "Dey gib me a lollipop."

"I know, sweetie, but they're not good people. They did some really bad things, and mommy is afraid of them. So I don't want you to talk to them anymore."

"Dey do bad things? But dey're nice! Dey gib me a lollipop wif bubble gum!"

I decide that it's time to get serious. These people are unpredictable, and I don't want her to get hurt.

"You're just going to confuse her," Scott calls as he walks by.

Rubbish. What does he know?

"Listen carefully to mommy, sweetie. That man tried to hurt mommy. They are not good people, and I don't want them to try to hurt you."

She looks at me, her sunny brow pinched together. "Dey try to hurt you?"

"Yes. And I don't want -"
"Ohhh," she interrupts, with relief. "No, mama. You mate a bistake. Dey not try to hurt you."

"Really? Cause I had to call the police," I tell her. "It was a very serious situation. Now please -"

"Da police?!" She squeals over my protest. "To come and tate dem away?!"

"Yes, because-"
"But dey LIB here!!"

Wait - what?

"Yes, I know, but people can't do things like that. People can't try to hurt their neighbors. They did a bad thing, so I had to call the police."

"But! Mama! Das where dey LIB! Da police goeend TATE them AWAY! Das not good!"

Crap. How did I become the criminal in this conversation?

I try to Disney-fy the explanation for her: "Honey, those are the bad people. They do bad things to people."

She throws her arms around my neck for a moment, then takes me face between her palms: "No, mama! Cheer up! Dose aren't da bad people. Dey're GOOD people! I know it! Dey gib me a lollipop, and dat's good! Dey are good people. I know dis. I promise."

I look at her kind face, as she tries to reason with me and what she obviously feels are my irrational fears. The enormity of her innocence crushes my anger and mistrust at my drug-addled neighbors. It's true that they're very sweet to Emmie. They go out of their ways to talk to her, to bring her small treats, to offer to babysit. Of course, I'm not INSANE. That's never going to happen. But they aren't all bad. I'm sure that if the house were on fire, they'd call 911 for us... after borrowing our phone, first...

"Sweetie, you are so good, and you are so beautiful inside. But mommy has to remind you that they did try to hurt mama."

"Dey did?"
"Yes, honey. I'm sorry."
"But... How?"

Do I tell her? Should she know? Is it too much, or just enough? She's a smart girl, and - uncertainly - I decide to put my faith in her: "The man had a knife, and he scared me, and that's why I called the police."

(Stunned silence) She looks at me with incredulity etched into every feature.

"He hab a knife?" she asks in a tiny, hushed voice. My heart breaks a little for her. I didn't want her to know this about the world so soon. I want her to believe in magic and goodness, so that she can pass them on to other people - other children, who might need them more than she does.

"I'm sorry, honey, but - yes."

Slowly, her expression changes... Her eyebrows separate, her chin raises, and her mouth opens wide. She's smiling! And, shockingly, she begins to giggle!

"He hab a knife?" She giggles.
I frown and watch her face, "Yes..."

She giggles harder. Then it hits me: She doesn't believe me!

"Emmie, he had a big knife called a machete, and-" she begins to cackle.

"A bid knife called a bashetee?!" She falls back on her bed, rolling. "He hab a BIG KNIFE called a BASHETEE?!"

Emmie thinks this is the punch line to a bedtime story! I can hear Scott's smirk from three rooms away. Fine. He told me so.

I sigh and grin and plop Emmie back in the bed with a tickle. Only two of us need to be vigilant against evil in the world. I'll let the third wear her rose-colored glasses a while longer.

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