Tears and more tears.
Kristin, my 13-year-old daughter is, in a word, lovely.
Mind you, I'm not bragging -- I had absolutely nothing to do with
the fact that she is a gorgeous young thing. We all know that the
children God gives us are at his discretion. And they are all --
every one of them, in their own unique ways -- precious, lovely and
of great worth.
Kristin is also lovely on the inside -- and thoughtful, even
pensive at times. She has a moral compass and knows how to use it,
often courageously standing up to the crowd when she instinctively
knows something feels wrong. Which is why it is particularly
painful to see her in distress.
Despite her keen sense of morality, Kristin is still a teenager,
subject to the pressures of our modern toxic culture. On this
particular day, we are shopping for swimwear and shorts for our
summer vacation. But the last two hours have almost made me want to
bag the whole trip.
If you don't have young girls, then you probably can't understand
the dilemma. It's quite simple, really. The problem is that there
are virtually no swimsuits, tops or shorts designed for tweens and
teens that don't resemble something a streetwalker would wear. As a
capitalist, I find it very strange that an entire segment of the
American population is so underserved -- very strange indeed. Most
of the moms and dads I know are thoroughly frustrated with the poor
selection of clothing, but in the end, shrug their shoulders, cast
aside their best judgment, and purchase the teeny weenie bikini for
their innocent young daughters anyway.
But not me. We try on item after item, hoping against hope that
maybe the next pair of shorts actually comes up somewhere close to
the waist, or the next bathing suit isn't really as tiny and baring
as it looks on the hanger. But time after time, I have to shake my
head and say, "no." Which is why tears are starting to well up in
Kristin's beautiful green eyes.
For a moment, I think of ignoring the reddening eyes as we continue
our mission to find something decent. But I think better of it,
sigh, and simply, softly say, "Sweetheart" as I step forward and
hug her close. This act of understanding is enough to send the
pooled waters spilling down her cheeks. We remain in our silent
embrace for several minutes and then I step back and wipe away her
tears. She sweetly smiles as I say, " We'll keep on looking -- no
matter how long it takes -- until we find something you like, and
that also reflects the honor and respect for your body that you
deserve."
Later, with only two items that pass muster -- as I'm putting the
hangers on the dozens of items that didn't work -- Kristin comes to
me. She puts her arms around my neck and says, "I'm sorry I was
being so difficult." Again, she sheds a few tears, and I marvel at
the incredible gift, privilege and responsibility of being a
mother.
"Kristin," I say, "You weren't difficult at all. I'm sorry you live
in a world where so many adults have failed in their responsibility
to treat children like the treasures you are. Thanks for allowing
me to be the mom, Kristin. The mom who loves you more than anyone
in the world could possibly love you. The mom who wants what is
best for you." She steps back, looks directly in my eyes, and says,
"I love you, mommy."
We leave the store a bit more determined to fight for our values, a
bit more disgusted that there has to be a battle at all, and a lot
closer to each other. All in all, it's been a day I will long
remember and even come to cherish as a reminder that fighting the
culture is sometimes frustrating and exhausting, but always, always
worth the effort.
First appeared on World Net Daily.