Innocence to Experience: Why I Didn't Want to Know (But I'm Kind of Glad I Do)

When I was twelve, I spent a week at my aunt’s house in East Boston. This week represented one of many spent there. My school vacation trips to Auntie D’s are a cherished part of my childhood. On this particular week, I convinced my mom over the phone to let me watch “Titanic” with Auntie D. My first PG13 movie! There were conditions, however. My aunt had to fast-forward through a few "adult" scenes (remember VCR's?) No matter. I was pumped.

1.5 hours later: Auntie D is busily making me dinner in the kitchen. I’m snacking on a Hershey bar on the living room couch, sporting pink fuzzy socks and an oversized t-shirt. A car. Steam. Yes, it was THE car scene. It’s too late. I hear a gasp from the other room as Auntie D sprints to the television, slamming her hand against the screen. To which I reply, “It’s okay, Auntie D. It's okay. They’re just kissing with their shirts off.” 

Thanks to overheard conversations among kids at the back of the bus, I now know a little bit more than I did on that fateful day nine years ago. I now know what was going on between Jack and Rose. A bit more than kissing, I would say. While the since named "Titanic incident" is an amusing one, it got me thinking about the more serious "lessons" learned. 

When we’re young, we make up explanations for concepts, processes, or events that we do not recognize or understand, or that we do not have words for. On the other side of this, we often make discoveries that we wish could have remained buried. We may not even realize these moments right away, as we try to make sense of the world in ways that we know how. However, we slowly come to realize that  life is not always peachy or easy. In fact, it can be downright tough.

One of the first times I realized that life stretched far beyond my swingset and neighborhood games of manhunt came as I watched two towers come crumbling down on television. Is that someone jumping out of the flames?! My ten-year-old heart was thumping; I frantically looked to Jules for explanation. I will never forget Mom’s stony face. Looking back, I can practically see the wheels turning in her head: I cannot shield her from this. It will change our country forever, and there is no way she won’t be exposed. But how do I explain “terrorism” to my precious, wide-eyed little girl? And why should I have to?

And so I trekked to school on the morning of September 12th, 2001. I still had a piece of my blankie in my backpack. I still wore a ribbon in my hair. But life was different from that point on. That morning, instead of class discussions about our weekends or Tuck Everlasting, I heard the names Osama and Al-Qaeda. I brought a notebook to school. I had some notion that I could be a modern day Anne Frank, journaling my experiences as a child of 9/11. Maybe someone in a distant time and place would pick it up. Even at ten, I know that this was big. 

"Dear Diary,

Something really bad has happened in America. I saw the broken towers on the news this morning. They say they are looking for people who lived, but I don't see how anyone could survive a building falling on their heads. I'm kind of scared that a plane might fly on to Cape Cod. Hopefully they won't hit my school. What would they want with kids?"

9/11 represented a widespread loss of innocence for so many children (and probably adults too).

But we don't always have a whole nation behind us. Sometimes, we can't even find one person who we feel really understands. 

There have been more personal "adult" moments that I wasn't necessarily ready for. But are we ever ready? Like the time I learned what "rape" was. From the fourteen-year-old neighbor who threatened it on me if I didn't give him a piece of my brownie. Or the time I learned of the abuse a close friend of mine suffered at the hands of a boyfriend. Teenagers know how to do that? I thought. Who the hell teaches them?

And that six letter word: cancer. Oh that word. I wouldn't be upset if I didn't hear it ever again. But I'm sure I will. It played a huge role in my maturity level, and is the major contributor as to why I am often deemed an "old soul." 

I don't know if I want to be an old soul. Sometimes it's useful. But other times, I wish I could just be nine again, playing in my treehouse, where the only worry was whether or not there was enough Kool-Aid for everyone. 

What I do know is that I appreciate having perspective. And a strong backbone. And an even stronger faith in God. Even when it's tough. And all of this is thanks to things I "didn't want to know."

This weekend, I will be volunteering at a camp called Comfort Zone. This camp serves children aged 7-17 who have lost a parent or a sibling, providing a free weekend of healing and fun. It is an unbelievable organization. I will be a "Big Buddy" for a little girl who is embarking on her own grief journey, being her best friend through the weekend and counseling her every step of the way. The one- on-one nature makes it a tremendous responsibility, and I am so ready to use my experiences for good. 

But it will be tough.

I am one who has more trouble seeing other people suffer. If it's me, fine. Well not at all "fine," but I can somehow work through it in my own way, however that may be. But when I don't know how to help someone, knowing that my words will never be enough, even if I can somehow relate....that's incredibly difficult for me. The situations that stole these children's loved ones are as varied as the kids themselves. Suicide, accidents, illness...issues that beautiful young children should never have to learn about. 

But children are pretty darn resilient. Children are intuitive and insightful. I have learned this throughout many years of intense interactions with young people of all ages and in all capacities. You can have some frank conversations with kids, and they really understand. Sometimes, they even bring up points and emotions that you hadn't even considered. 

Maybe this is because they still play in tree houses. And have imaginary friends. And drink Kool-Aid. 

In my own experience, beautiful light has come out of the darkness in the forms of relationships and insight. I would not give up hardships for anything. Yes, it would be nice to have a perfect life with constant rainbows and butterflies. But at the end of the day, I wouldn't grow without the difficult times. In fact, I would not appreciate all of the miraculous moments that life has to offer. At (nearly) twenty-one, I would not have the unique perspectives on existence that unfortunately take most people a lifetime to develop. 

So I'll take the occasional storm. And I'll keep my innocence, thank you very much. Because bad things happen, whether we recognize them or not. Growing up is not about avoidance. It is about making the most of what you experience, and using each moment to learn and grow. That is what I'll tell my kids this weekend: Even when it's raining, keep believing that it is still a beautiful day.