My children bring me peace. My children were born into violence, and I freed us from that, though that freedom only lasted a year and a half. Now they live with the man who brought that violence into our lives. It is not a peaceful existence, for them or for me. But we have peace when we are together. I don’t usually talk about this here because I talk about it here.
They live in an environment where violence is accepted, condoned, and collected. Their father doesn’t just own guns for protection, but swords, knifes, throwing stars, and other items which, by design, cause injury and pain when used with violent actions solely for the sake of owning them.
Their father watches violent television shows – from The Deadliest Warrior to 300, and my children are not protected: daddy shows, they call them. My children practice killing each other with play swords. Their living room is a mock battle field, where the killer is superior to the killed.
They live immersed in violence, and yet they bring peace to my home.
I do not allow violent play during our time together. I do not accept hitting, kicking, and throwing things as a form of communication or conflict resolution. I practice patience, and use these moments as teaching moments. But teach as I may, they return to violence, to where is it promoted and accepted as appropriate, to where a slash with a sword is superior to a hug.
My children are my future. They are a part of our future. I strive to teach them well, and I pray that teaching is more powerful than the violence they’re taught in their other home. I let them lead me into peace, and I lead them into peace. We each lead the way for the other, together, leading and following simultaneously. I show them the beauty they possess inside, and that strength is love, not a swift kill.
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