Brave

His face froze as he watched the images on the television set. My heart sank. I hadn’t noticed him enter the room. I would have switched the screen off had I heard his little footsteps.

“What are they doing?” he whispered, as though afraid to ask the question out loud. I sighed heavily.

“They’re protecting,” I reached out my arms, beckoning him to come to me. The world is uncertain enough. I hoped the warmth of my arms would strengthen him.

“But why?” the sleep was gone from his little face now, his eyes wide and alert.

“Well, some people were trying to enter a church—not a church exactly, but something called a mosque. They were going to worship there. And some other people, people who didn’t agree with what they believed, were trying to hurt them.”

“They hurt them? For going to church—mosque?” My heart broke.

“Yes. It happens sometimes, in the world. People can do very sad things to each other.”

“What happened then? Did they get hurt?”

“Not exactly. Do you see the people standing in a circle? A group of people decided they wouldn’t stand by and let anyone get hurt. So, they gathered around the people going to the mosque. They stood in a circle around them and walked with them so they would be safe.”

“Were they going to the mosque too?”

“No, not necessarily. Most of them didn’t believe in the same things as the people worshipping there. But they believed that no one should be hurt because of their faith.”

“That was brave.”

“It was.”

“Do you think they were scared?”

“I know they were.”

“What happened then?”

“Well, the people going to the mosque arrived safely. No one could get to them through the crowd that protected them.” He let his breath out, relief relaxing the muscles pressed against me. Then he sat up again.

“But what about the protectors? Did they get hurt?” I sighed.

“Some of them did. Some of the protectors got hurt. But they stood there anyway, between the attackers and the people who needed them. Sometimes we have to do things that scare us to protect people who need us.”

He nodded slowly, the words making their way into the crevices of his young mind. Then he yawned. I carried him up to bed, tucked him gently beneath his covers. I prayed he would stay small just a little longer.

In the morning, his eyes were alight.

“I think I’m ready,” he announced.

“Ready for what?” I asked over my breakfast cereal.

“Ready to be like the protectors on TV. I’m scared, but I’m ready.” I smiled at his innocence.

He spoke of all the brave things he would do as we drove to preschool. He speculated about the ways in which his friends might need his help. He described his bravery in grandiose terms. Then we arrived at the school.

He paused with his hand on the door, hesitating just a moment.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I don’t know if I’m ready. To be brave, I mean.”

I hugged his tiny frame, holding him close and wishing I could keep him there forever.

“You will be, when the time comes.”

He nodded seriously, then set his little jaw. He nodded once more, then climbed down from the car. He made his way into the school with his chin held high, barely glancing back to wave as he entered his classroom.

I thought about our conversation often throughout the morning, smiling as I remembered the look of determination that had set his tiny face like marble. What a force he was, I laughed, and what a force he would be.

I pulled up to the school and waited for him to emerge. He burst through the doors and charged at the car, the words already spilling out before he reached me.

“I did it! I did it! I knew I could, and I did it!”

“What did you do?” I asked, overwhelmed by his energetic arrival.

“I was a protector, just like the ones last night. You were right: I was brave when I needed to be!”

“What do you mean? What happened?” He paused then, as though realizing this was a serious moment. He stopped to gather his breath and his thoughts, folding his little hands in his lap.

“Well,” he began with all the seriousness of a newscaster, “one of my friends, Sammy, was playing with the blue train set—you know, the one I like too. Another friend said it was his turn, and he was going to take it. He tried to grab it.” I nodded, seeing the whole thing play out in my mind.

“Sammy, well, he was upset. He said he had just gotten it and it was still his turn. But the other friend wanted the trains now. He picked one up and was going to throw it at Sammy’s head. It would have hurt, Mom. Last week Lacey threw one at my head, and it really hurt.” I smiled in spite of myself, then cleared my throat and nodded seriously.

“It seemed just like what we saw last night. Someone was being picked on, just for playing with blue trains. So I thought to myself, ‘this is it. I have to be brave.’ I walked over and I stood between Sammy and the other guy. I looked at him and I said, ‘You can’t hurt my friend. I’m here to protect him.’”

“And what happened?” I asked.

“Well, he threw the train at me instead. I already knew it would hurt, because it had happened to me before, so I was ready. I let him throw it at me. Then I said, ‘You can’t pick on my friend. You go find another toy to play with.’ And I just stood there, between them.”

“What did he do?”

“He looked at me, for a minute or two. Then he said, ‘Fine. Trains are for babies anyway,’ and he walked away!”

Flooded with pride, I pulled him into my arms. I kissed his forehead and pressed him against me.

“Did I do it? Was I brave like the men last night?”

“Braver,” I said. “You were even braver.”