Tough Day for Mothers of Kids Astray
The Denver Post
May 12, 2002

How would I feel today if I were the parent of Luke John Helder or John Walker Lindh, the parent of any child who turned to violence to express rage or ideology? Instead of being a day to enjoy my children, Mother's Day would be a day of unmitigated anguish.

Society often condemns parents for their children's failings. You had a dysfunctional family. You didn't give your children strong values or teach them right from wrong. You let them run wild and levied no consequences for bad behavior. But, most of us know of children who took up drugs or violence or crime even though their parents were loving, involved and decent people. While parents are sometimes culpable in their children's transgressions, that is certainly not universally true.

For parents of violent children, not only is there the blame society puts on you, but there is also your own guilt, deserved or not. I know, as a mother, that whether or not society blamed me, I would feel enormous guilt if my child hurt someone else. I would always wonder what I did wrong, what I could have done differently, why I didn't see this coming, why I didn't intervene earlier. It would tear me apart. Mother's Day would bring a special torment in a sea of agonizing days.

As parents, we assume our share of guilt and blame no matter how much we care for our children. Like the day my two-year-old daughter fell down the stairs. When two women bearing religious literature came to my door a short time later, her face was bruised and her eyes swollen from tears. Their pursed lips and wary eyes condemned me. I was distressed enough by my daughter's misery without having to endure their censure, too.

Or the time soon after my two toddlers had fallen and required stitches. At naptime, they entertained themselves by pulling out each other's stitches. When I took them back to the doctor for repairs, he told me sternly that I should be a better mother. I was consumed with guilt even though I had thought they were sleeping peacefully.

From the vantage point of a mother who has raised her children, I often think of how I would do things differently today, of how much better a mom I could be with age and experience on my side. But, of course, most of us have little knowledge and no experience when we are faced with raising our first child. How lucky I am that despite all my mistakes and all my kids' mishaps, my children have grown into adulthood with compassion rather than hate, with tolerance rather than contempt.

It could have gone the other way, as it has for countless parents. I hope, as I muse about my own life as a parent, that I am becoming less judgmental about others. What do I know about the circumstances of their family lives, about the problems they caused for their children and vice versa? Who am I to judge someone I don't know?

What I do believe is that misfortune with one's children could befall any one of us, no matter how hard we work at being good parents. Yet, there are even more children who survive neglectful or abusive parents to become strong, successful individuals in spite of their difficult childhoods.

At some point, our children become responsible for themselves and their behavior. While I thrill at my children's successes and suffer with their disappointments, while I know that I've played an important part in the course of their lives, I also know that they are the ones who can take the credit and the responsibility for their choices.

None of this would console me if my son had fought against his country or my daughter had planted bombs in mailboxes or under cars. I can only begin to know the anguish of parents whose children have done great harm to others. On this Mothers' Day, I wish them solace. I know they will not have joy.