I have been somewhat remiss with my articles of late because this one has been stewing inside me, and I haven’t yet had the words to get it out. Our role in protecting children who are not our own is a topic that is often fraught with controversy and complications, so writing about it is equally confounding. There is a fine line between acting responsibly and over-reacting, and it is an imperfect line at that. It is, though, a line we all must be aware of and find our own comfort level with because if we don’t, it is not we who suffer, it is children.
As a high school teacher, I am sometimes an unexpected confidante for my students—students who do not have parents or grandparents or aunts and uncles to turn to with their troubles. This is both a blessing and a curse. I consider myself privileged to earn their trust and confidence, but I am also deeply saddened by the burden these students have to carry: the burdens of the girl who will be the first in her family to graduate from high school, but whose mother continually calls her to tell her she is worthless and will amount to nothing; the nineteen-year-old student who helped make the decision to pull her grandmother off life support and then had to plan the entire funeral herself; the sisters whose mother escaped an abusive relationship with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the car they ended up living in.
I am certain that there are many moms here who have had similar experiences and have not only survived them, but thrived in spite of them. Each year, as I talk to these students, predominantly young women, I know that in spite of their life experiences, they will thrive. I know this because to have made it successfully to their senior year of high school in spite of their life circumstances, they already possess the type of resilience they will need to overcome life’s other hardships.
The students I worry about are those who didn’t make it to this point, who got lost somewhere along the way. The children who didn’t have the resilience to bounce back from the hardships and abuse.
On a recent episode of Desperate Housewives, Lynette publicly slaps her step-daughter. While this scenario was fiction, I wondered how I—how any of us—would have reacted had we been standing in that store with them, had it been real. Would you have tried to gracefully step in and suggest a time out for both mom and daughter? Would you have picked up your cell phone and called mall security? Would you have looked down your nose at the mother or given a concerned and sympathetic look to the child? Or would you have turned the other direction because it’s easier than trying to decide to intervene?
As a teacher, I am required by law to report any instance of child abuse, regardless of where it happens. For that reason, I am acutely aware of how difficult it can be to decide whether intervention is appropriate in a given situation. Yet, as a mother of four, I sympathize with the parent who has to drag the toddler out of the store kicking and screaming. I understand how so many moms live every day on the edge of losing control over themselves. I think all mothers understand, and so we give the benefit of the doubt, we look with sympathy at both mother and child and think “I’ve been there.”
Still I am troubled by the children who are lost along the way. I wonder how many times we have to hear our neighbors swear at their child, call them useless, worthless, stupid, before we do something. I wonder how many times we have to watch our child’s exuberant and playful best friend become withdrawn and morose when it’s time to go home before we start to worry and question. I wonder how many times our child has to ask us to send an extra sandwich for the same child over and over before we think there might be something wrong.
Hillary Clinton made famous the phrase “It takes a village to raise a child.” I enjoy writing about children because I deeply believe that sentiment. As a mother, I value the community of women who, like me, struggle every day to bring good to their children’s lives, to raise kind, intelligent, and socially-responsible citizens, to provide comfort and laughter and structure all at the same time. Mothers who, like me, often feel like they are one “Why, Mommy?,” one potty-training accident, one permanent marker picture on the wall away from tipping over the edge.
I consider myself deeply rewarded simply to be able to make some contribution to that community if it makes even one mother feel less alone. But as I listen to the stories of the young women who made it, I worry about the boys and girls who didn’t. And I wonder, where was the community of mothers when that child needed it? Where was the community of mothers when another mother was too proud, too scared, too overwhelmed to ask for help? I think of the children who get lost along the way and wonder if we could have made a difference.
I love this article. In it you asked where was the community of mothers. In today's society if you say a single thing to another person's child or even attempt to chestise them people feel offended. When I grew up I had the village my mother,Godmother, aunts and church behind me. I believe the community is malnutritioned and needs help. They are starving and there is not enough assistance in the community especially where I live. I understand you said that these young women have so many things going on in their lives but I cant help to wonder and pray for the young men. As a mother of 3 african american sons I pray everyday my children leave my sight. Young men have to watch out for gangs who are killing and the officers who mission stated suggest protect and serve killing them also in cold blood. The community needs a voice and leaders. I do as much as I can by helping a single mother or young man get jobs but one person can not do it alone. You article is beautifully well written and it does take a village to raise a child but at the present time I truly believe the village needs resources,funding, shelters, and love. Keep doing what your doing because you are making a difference
Stages 
I have been somewhat remiss with my articles of late because this one has been stewing inside me, and I haven’t yet had the words to get it out. Our role in protecting children who are not our own is a topic that is often fraught with controversy and complications, so writing about it is equally confounding. There is a fine line between acting responsibly and over-reacting, and it is an imperfect line at that. It is, though, a line we all must be aware of and find our own comfort level with because if we don’t, it is not we who suffer, it is children.
