Monsters and Heroes

"DAD! DAD! HELP ME!"

It's just after 2:00 in the morning when heard my nine year old son, Calvin, shouting out into the darkness of the night.

I don't even think my eyes were open as I rolled out of bed and grabbed the bat next to my side of the bed. The first thing I remember seeing is the hallway that leads to his bedroom and how it seemed especially long at that moment, like a Stanley Kubrick movie hallway.

Having a hair trigger temper, all of my insides were ROARING, "I'm coming! I'm coming!" I've long ago given up on the ability to be sneaky. If you have ever met me you will understand why I am a much better fit for the "charging bull" approach.

I shot my eyes down the stairway as I turned the corner toward Calvin's room and I didn't see anything and against all my training I ran into the room straight through the middle of door, bat in hand and ready to deal with anything that may be scaring my son.

The room was empty, of course, and I side-stepped over to Calvin's bed and he wrapped his arms tight around my neck as I sat down on his bed with him. My heart was racing, matching his racing heart, beat for beat.

"It's okay. I'm here now. You're okay."

Calvin told me about his dream. Bad men were chasing him and he was scared and he couldn't find me so I could help him.

"That does sound like a scary dream. But you know what? I will always find you when you need me."

"I didn't know they were bad men at first, Dad, but they were."

"You're right! Sometimes it's tough to tell. But bad guys will always do bad things and you will know it."

I had already agreed to sleep on the floor next to him, just in case, and I stretched out on the floor next to his bed, my heart still amping down from the fast start. I realized the bat was still gripped firmly in my hand.

I've had "Big Stick" (my name for the bat) with me since I was in my 30's. It's little league sized wooden bat. I've long since painted it all black and the paint is missing in many spots.

We teach our kids that we will protect them from monsters and bad men, but when it really comes down to it, even if we lay down everything we have for our kids; sometimes it's not enough.

We like to think of ourselves as The Good Guys, but not everyone shares that belief. We like to think that we are the mounted knights of old, racing in to save the world from the many horrors it chooses to inflict on itself.

For decades the US military is one of the few armies that have been widely celebrated when they enter a new city or town, even if the city or town was previously part of the opposing army. Men, women and children would line the streets and welcome our armies with flowers and hugs, because for many, our armies represented a return to freedom for them.

But our image has changed.

There are many reasons I can offer as to why we are no longer seen as the knights in shiny white armor, but I'm not going to indict my brothers and sisters who are in harm's way. They are doing things that few others can do. Their motives are pure and I can honestly say that the overwhelming majority of them believe they can help make the world a better place with their sacrifice.

But the situation has come become such  that our troops are no longer being seen as a rescuing force, but as an occupying army, and occupying armies are never seen as heroes, but rather, they are seen as monsters.

So it shouldn't be surprising when a little nine year old girl picks up her "big stick" and charges right at a couple of men with guns, MONSTERS!.

The men, feeling tired and worn out from all of the long days, saw the small girl screaming and charging them with a small stick. The older of the men moved back toward the street while the younger man seemed confused and stood in his spot.

The younger man kept asking himself, "What kind of fear or hatred drives a small girl of eight or nine years old to charge a couple of men with guns and protective gear? How much hatred would a child have to feel in order to be able to overcome their natural instincts of self-preservation and charge at two large, armed men with nothing but a stick?"

But she did!

The small girl ran up to the man who remained and she shouted a loud castigation of the man (monster) standing in front of her. Then she began to wildly swing her stick at him, hitting him on his hips and arms. It only stung when she hit bare flesh on his arm.

Her screaming soon changed to sobbing and then crying as the young girl's energy ebbed and her stick lost its sting, physically.

He stood there, watching the face of the child and feeling the indictment of countless days of violence... he just stood there.

The small girl's crying and wild stick-swinging seemed to be taking its toll on her efforts. Her tears were making it harder for her to keep her balance and with a last wild swing she lost her grip on her stick and it went flying behind the man.

Without a weapon to use the small girl collapsed onto her back in the dust of the yard. seemingly ready to accept any violent response she was sure to receive; her small chest was heaving as she mixed crying with gasping for her breath.

The large man instinctively leaned over and put his hand out to help the small girl off the ground. But any child knows that when the monster tries to help you it's always just a trick, because monsters are like that in any culture. Monsters are horrible!

"AAAGH! NOOOO!"

The girl covered her face and screamed as the man reached out to her. The fear was real and palpable, she was afraid of him and there was nothing he could do to make her believe he wasn't the monster she believed he was.

The man's huge shoulders sunk as he turned around, unsure of what to do. Removing the thick padded glove he was wearing he walked over to the stick and picked it up and placed it on the ground close to the small girl's feet, and the two men walked away.

So when my child asks me about monsters, what am I telling him or her?

I slid the bat up further under the bed and closed my eyes. What do we tell ourselves?