BASSETERRE, St. Kitts - My son is afraid to go to school. Not because of bullies or strict teachers, but because he fears that either on the short walk to or from school, he may be gunned down.
What should I say to comfort him when I too am afraid to leave my home no matter the time of day?
At 9 years old, he has seen three bullet-ridden bodies in 8 days.
Every evening I ask him how his day at school went and lately the tales of who pushed who, who got licks and what lesson his teacher taught have been replaced with how many gunshots he heard and the number of times he heard police and ambulance sirens.
He vaguely remembers one of the young men who died in the recent double homicide, yet he felt saddened by the incident. I was unsure of how to approach him on the subject as I too felt out of sorts seeing photos of someone I saw grow up, who always smiled and said ‘good morning’ and asked how I was doing, sprawled out dead in the street not far from my own residence.
“How do you feel about what happened?” I asked tentatively. The response was immediate and clearly predetermined, “Really really bad.” I delved deeper, asking why he felt so strongly about the situation.
“Someone I knew got killed and any one of us could be next. It could be one of us or my uncle, my teacher, my friends,” was the heart-wrenching reply from someone who one year ago thought if he got run over by car, he could go to the hospital and be brought back to life. I miss those days.
He is now considering his own mortality. My son and the rest of the nation’s youth have been robbed of their childhood innocence and the implications are so disturbing and far reaching that my mind has yet to fathom the depth. My only child can no longer skip to school anxious to get some playing in before the bell signals the beginning of class. Now the urgency in his step is one of unmitigated fear and terror.
As a single parent (by choice), I shoulder the responsibility of having to provide his needs, supporting our household and being a responsible parent. He is not allowed to bring home even a pencil that did not come from my home, he has to go straight home from school, he has to speak ‘proper English’, he is always top of his class, he dresses according to the school codes and from he uttered his first word was taught to have manners and respect when speaking to his peers and adults alike. We hug and kiss openly, and saying “I love you” is part of our daily routine.
For this he is ridiculed and teased mercilessly by his classmates and even some adults who call him a homosexual because he cannot and does not act like a thug and they chastise me for instilling morals and cultivating a sense of decorum in my child.
All is well in the safety of my home, but when I cannot be there, the external pressures are great and one can only pray that he has the strength of character to resist the convenience of fitting in and holds fast to the conviction of being a decent human being and doing what is right.
At the end of our conversation that night, I asked the question being perpetuated throughout every home, business place, church and gathering- “What can we do to fix what is going on?”
My son, in all of his nine years of wisdom replied, “The police should kill all the bad guys.” Instinctively I laughed, not because his answer carried the slightest hint of humour, but because I thought to myself, “If only it were that simple.”
My laughter disturbed him. He looked me in the eyes and said, “Mom, I am serious.” I could not respond. Instead, I hugged him and holding back the tears brimming my eyes and I told him everything will be ok. I hope and pray I did not lie to my son.
That night, for the first time that I can recall, he asked me to bolt all the locks on our front door- the door handle, the deadbolt and both tower bolts. His reason? “I don’t want the bad guys to be able to get in.” Even in his own home he did not feel safe. I cried myself to sleep.
Now when I see him off to school in the mornings, the usual “I love you” we exchange has taken on a whole new and frightening meaning. My son and I both realize that with the current state of affairs in our country, our neighbourhoods, our homes, it may be the last words we say to each other on any fateful day.
