On Becoming Fearless -- About Parenting

A schoolmate of my daughter's blew his brains out last year. Another overdosed. Another got pregnant. These are just the ones I know about, the cases that prompt official letters home, random drug testing, and clashes over free contraceptives. In a large public school, these statistics aren't high, but they are always devastating. In a culture of sex, drugs and academic pressure, how do we protect our children?

For years I was afraid. When I grew up, depression was less common, the drugs were milder and sex wasn't fatal. Maybe I was lucky to come out of adolescence unscathed, but how could I guarantee that my daughters would? According to the experts, every child is at risk.

So I spouted statistics, warned them about weakness, and fretted at the first sign of tears. We practiced what to say if someone offered drugs and how to call me from anywhere, anytime. I had no reason to search their drawers, but I read every shredded note that I found in the laundry. I called parents before play dates to ask if there were guns in the house. Call me paranoid, but call me within five minutes of curfew. My girls knew I trusted them; I just didn't trust anyone else. And for a while, it worked. Both girls were "straight edge." Yet, there was one risk I hadn't considered: fear was ruining our relationship.

Then one day, when I was shopping for a new coffeemaker, I ran into a mom I knew from the elementary school PTA. I had always admired her beautiful family: their weekly barbecues, the children's tennis skill, and their frequent honor roll status. That morning, her eyes were red and glassy. When I asked if she was all right, she burst into tears. She had just shipped her child off to wilderness camp in Montana. It was a last chance at Rehab.

I crept out of the store in a daze. I had heard other tales like this, but none quite so close to home. I was desperate for a cup of coffee, but I had forgotten all about replacing my broken coffeemaker. If it happened to this good mother, it could happen to anyone. There were forces beyond a parent's control. Adolescence was like a natural disaster.

The feeling of helplessness reminded me of that horrifying night of the Northridge earthquake. Yet, as our home shook and crumbled around us, I picked up the girls, carried them into the hallway and kept them safe in my arms. Now, the girls were far too big to carry, but I would keep them safe - or die trying. I wasn't afraid of earthquakes. I needed to stop being afraid of life.

It took time to trust myself. It was hard to resist warning my younger daughter to stay with her friends at the Friday night movies, in case other kids were doing drugs. But soon after, she started telling me when other kids were. Sure, I was tempted to forbid her from future Friday nights, but I didn't. The fact that she was telling me this made it clear that she wasn't one of them. Now that I've backed off, my older daughter is more open, too. Children need the experience of overcoming the challenges of adolescence, in order to be confident adults. My girls know that I'll be there if they need me. So do I.

If you haven't already visited our new Becoming Fearless section, click here for more blog posts, news stories, and special features on relationships, work, parenting, health, sex . . . life.