Nourishment

I've had an event from the past year on my mind. I don't know why. I've been thinking of all I learned from it and thought perhaps I'd share that here.

Our family is lucky to be able to use some land, that belongs to a friend, to raise a garden. One Monday last May we went there to prepare the ground and plant our seeds. It was fun. Yet all too soon the setting sun marked that it was time to go.  Elise, James and Samuel had carried some tools to the back of the truck, which was parked along the road, and were standing in the bed of it while Jeff and I gathered the rest of our things and locked the gate. Happy children through and through, they were making a game of standing in the truck bed, jumping and waving to the cars driving by, trying to get them to honk.

As I walked toward our vehicle I saw a flash of white and heard a thud -- two things my mind didn't really understand. Elise bent her head to her knees. When I got closer and she rose back up, I saw that her face was completely bloodied. She had been hit by eggs.

I couldn't fully make out the source of her injuries -- was it her nose, her mouth, her teeth? Thankfully her eyes were spared. There was precious little available in the truck to wipe away the blood, maybe a fast food napkin or two. Yet when she burst out between sobs --  "Mom! Why would someone do this to me?" -- I knew it wasn't the physical injuries that would need the most tending. Her faith in mankind had been crushed as completely as those eggs.

Jeff at this point came to our side. His back had been to the street while he locked the gate, and he hadn't seen what happened. Yet one look at Elise spurred him into angry action. The kids reported that the eggs came from a truck full of teenagers, and that the truck had gone that-a-way. Jeff wanted to pursue them so urged us quickly into our truck. Elise begged instead to go home, all she wanted to do was to clean up and rest. She didn't care about finding the person who hurt her. (By now I could tell no teeth or bones were broken, and that she'd heal OK.)

Lesson #1: Listen to your children. 'Tis better to let go.

Nevertheless, Jeff bolted off, with all of us in tow, to find the perpetrators. He said he merely wanted to get a license plate to report to the police, but I was worried his violated papa-bear instincts might go overboard and cause a confrontation that would make things worse. I didn't like seeing him like that. It was scary!

Lesson #2: Don't get between a bear and its cubs. Even if you're the mama bear.

We drove all over that part of town, never catching sight of the evil truck. I was actually glad. Still, we felt a duty to report what little info we had so drove to the police station. (We hadn't called 911 because it wasn't a true emergency.) Wouldn't you know it, the police station was locked.

Vigilantism thwarted, only then did Jeff drive to a gas station so Elise could clean up.

Lesson #3: Justice can -- and often should -- wait.

That particular night the gas station was running low on ice; hand-written signs taped to all the soda fountains tersely told people to back off the stuff. I explained to the clerk that my daughter had been hurt, could I please have some ice for an ice pack? Not only did he kindly oblige, he showed genuine interest in what had happened to her. He was indignant when we told him someone egged her. "What?! I'd beat 'em up if I knew who it was!" Misguided, but sweet all the same. It made Elise feel better.

I took her to the parking lot where Jeff was scrubbing egg off his truck. Eggs pelted the inside of the truck, too, thanks to the cab back window having been slightly open. Then it was James' turn to be cleaned, for he got splattered as well, although without the same force as Elise.

"What? They hit you too?" the clerk cried out when I walked in with my son. He gave James two suckers. "Make sure your sister gets this."

Lesson #4: Good people abound. 

When we finally made it home the first thing Elise did was to pick up her violin. I've heard it said that the violin is the closest instrument to the human voice. That night I heard my precious daughter "speak" her fears, her worries and ultimately her acceptance as she aligned herself with the rhythms of a happy tune. I was so, so grateful she had such an outlet. I knew she would be all right.

She went to bed with a smile.

Lesson #5: Our children have their own sources of remarkable strength.

This story could end here, but there was even more to learn. The next day, Tuesday, Jeff contacted the police during ... ahem ... business hours. We didn't expect anything to come from it -- except maybe to help establish a pattern if there were other similar incidents. Late Tuesday afternoon an officer called Jeff back. Turns out there was a witness: a driver behind the egg-toting truck saw Elise get struck, and got the license plate.  In our confusion during the incident we hadn't even known there was another car. This driver talked to a different officer than Jeff did. But lacking the victim, that officer could not proceed on any charges. Thankfully, the two officers -- the one Jeff reported to, and the one the other driver spoke to -- compared notes.

Lesson #6: Don't avoid sharing information just because you think you don't have the full story. Yours may be the important missing piece.

Now, we did not want to seek revenge against the young people who hurt Elise, but we did want them to realize their joyride had consequences. We did not want them to hurt anyone else. We made this very clear when explaining to James and Elise why they should give their statements to the police. There was some difficulty setting up a mutually agreeable time. In the end an officer arranged to come to our home Tuesday night, after we got home from the Pack Meeting Bike Rodeo.

What a kick that it was the very same officer who delivered the bike safety presentation to the Cub Scouts!

Lesson #7: Laugh when you can.

This incident made its way to Juvenile Court, and the young men involved were charged with various counts of assault, vandalism and criminal mischief. In the victim statement forms we had to complete, we expressed our hope that the young people would rise above this one act and make the most of themselves. We do not know what sentences, if any, were issued. That doesn't matter. We did receive one letter of apology, which Jeff dismissed as court-ordered, but which I was very touched to read.

I'm not sure how much Elise thinks about that May night. In the weeks that followed she did not want to go to the garden again, which was understandable but still hard for me to see. At first she wondered if she'd done something to provoke them. No, we told her, they already had their eggs in hand. She asked in the moment, "Why would someone do this to me?" I didn't have a satisfactory answer then and I still don't. It crushed me too. But I think back on that night when she took her violin in her hands and brought her reserves of goodness to the surface and looked forward with a smile.

Lesson #8: We don't need to understand why we got hurt, we need to understand how to move on.