I imagine in the future I'll be better equipped to reflect upon the job I've done as a parent to my boys due to the sheer volume of memories to sift through and judge and decide if the right move was made. I'm confident though, that a few nights ago I fulfilled my job responsibilities when my oldest had his first legitimate, heart-breaking nightmare.
I heard his door open sometime around 2am and he shuffled cautiously down the hall, whimpering. I got out of bed and met him in the hall, and he was shaking. The screams and tears burst from within him, and his trembling intensified as I lifted him off the ground. Between sobs and shrieks and bubbling snot, he pointed into his room and said that there was someone bad in his room and he wasn't going back in there.
I carried him back towards the room, and he lost his mind. He tried to climb and claw his way out of my arms, screaming about the bad person and clamped his hands over his eyes. I took him into the bathroom in the hall, turned on the light and we sat on the cold floor together. I rocked him in my lap until the sobs slowed, and I stood up to perform that simple duty that I'd seen so many times.
"I'm going in your room. There's no one in there, buddy. I promise. Poke your head out the door and watch, if you want."
His wet, blue eyes followed my steps into his room, watched as I threw open his closet door, peeked behind the curtains and under the bed. He padded out of the bathroom and towards me, and I bent down to him. "There's no one here. You're safe. Everything's going to be okay." He nodded and yawned, the exhaustion of sleep returning to his bones. I lifted him up and slid him under the covers and kissed him goodnight.
I walked back to bed and felt that in that small moment I had actually done it right.
In the coming days:
-Famous People I'd Enjoy Punching, Even If It Meant I'd Get My Ass Kicked
-Some Favorite (fictional) Villains
-The Complaint Department
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