Not My Daughter...

A few weeks ago, I found myself in Amelia’s room in the middle of the night.  The actual middle of the night, the time when it feels like you’re the only one awake in the world.  This doesn’t happen much anymore, but on this particular night, I was rocking Amelia back to sleep.  It was a rarity in several ways, not least of which that I was completely at peace about being there, about rocking my toddler for a few more minutes.  It won’t last for much longer, even at those times.

            Anyway, the hum from her sound machine was not helping me to keep my eyes open.  I have this fear that if I close my eyes while I’m holding her and let myself drift off, I’ll either end up spending much more time than I intended in that glider or I might drop her.  That would completely counteract all of the effort being put into getting her back to sleep.  So, I did what any of us would do in that situation. I turned to Facebook.  It’s funny how at moments like this, the most innocuous of Facebook articles that have been posted, shared or liked jump out so much more than they do in the light of day.  I had no discrimination in that moment for what I was reading.  In between articles about whatever pop culture phenomenon had seventeen things I didn’t know about it, I clicked on a post from a friend of a friend of a friend.

            This particular mom shared her story about what she believed was a run-in with a sex trafficking operation in a grocery store.  She felt that they were targeting her toddler age daughter and warned other parents who might take their children shopping alone.  This mom went into detail about how this might happen and her fear in those moments, feeling like her daughter was even on their radar.  I will never know if her fears were true, if her assumptions about the people in that store were accurate or if the worst could have happened had any of the minute details been different.  In spite of all that uncertainty, that post got under my skin.  As any parent knows, losing your child, in whatever way it might happen, is a constant, under the surface fear. 

            My first reaction was to insist to myself that I would not let anything happen to Amelia.  I immediately began to think through how I would have reacted, what I would have done, how I would protect her, keep her safe.  Just like Nemo’s dad, Marlin, I blindly, but with good intentions, assured myself that I would never let anything happen to her.  I feel that that was the reaction I should have had.  Amelia has been put in my care; she is my daughter, and she will always be my priority.  That’s a good thing.

          The more I have thought and thought and though about this, though, I have come to a conclusion that I always knew and yet never felt quite so tangible.  It can’t just be “not my daughter” (to quote Molly Weasley).  I pray that it will never be my daughter and I will continue to do everything in my power to continue that reality.  However, we can’t let it be anyone’s daughter.  Or sister.  Or mother.  Or cousin.  Or friend.  Or niece.  Or acquaintance.  Dietrich Bonhoeffer said it best when he said, “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.”

            We will not improve our society or end the very real horrors of sex trafficking and other atrocities of our country and our world if we only look out for ourselves.  We are a global community and it’s time that we started acting like it.  We have been given an opportunity to change the world for the better, for good.  Wasting that chance is simply not an option.  I have an amazing daughter who will change the world; it’s my responsibility to show her how to change it in a good way.  What kind of role model or teacher would I be if I showed her, by word or action or vote, that building walls , figuratively or literally, between people is an answer?