Mommy? What Is Raping?
tippity tap tap tap *pause* tippity tap tap tap
So went the sounds of me Facebooking, hunched over the laptop while awkwardly standing up, one foot through the doorway and in to the kitchen so that I felt that I was successfully multi-tasking. And then came these words:"Mom? What's raping?"
The boy was draped across the couch, taking the metal shin guards off his Christmas robot and snapping them back on again, over and over. My Facebook-drunk mind whipped into rapid sobriety. I knew that this had to be a side-by-side couch talk. My 5-year-old daughter was preoccupied with Elsa and Anna in her room, and I was grateful for the Disney soundtrack that would keep her out of this particular conversation.
It seemed like not so very long ago that I was trying to assuage my little boy's nervousness about bad guys, assuring him that there are very few legitimate "bad guys" in the world, and mostly it's a case of a normal person making bad decisions or being in compromising situations.
I looked him in the eye and asked him how he heard about "raping." He told me that he had heard it at the dinner table at his dad's house, his older step-brother had mentioned that he heard a kid at his high school had been raped. When he asked the grown-ups at the table what that meant, he wasn't given any answers. I said, "Well, I think if you're old enough to ask the question, you're old enough to hear the answer."
It isn't really about age, anyway, though, is it? Lord knows I can have conversations with my 5-year-old that I can't even have with my own maternal predecessors. It seems more that it's about knowing the person you're speaking with that determines if the conversation can be had, not age, and I knew this 8-year-old boy before me so well.
So here I was with his question. "What is raping?" I was trying not to let my mind linger on the news that a kid may have been raped at his step-brother's high school. I tried to not let my mind go to the places that would bog down my heart with sadness and anger, the emotions that would grab a hold of my tongue and stifle what I really needed it to say. So I kept it simple.
"You know a little about what sex is, right?"
He nodded. "Yeah."
"Well, sex is a really cool thing that grown-ups get to do when they're super in love with someone. It's something that they agree to do, together. Rape is when one person forces someone else to have sex, or touches their sex parts against their will. It's when one person wants it, the other person doesn't, but they make them do it anyway."
"You can't force people to do what they don't want to like that," he frowned.
"I know," I said. "It's an incredibly horrible thing and people who rape go to jail for it."
He didn't need to know that not everyone goes to jail for it. That more often than not, rapists get away with it. And they do it again. That even famous people have done it. He didn't need to know that not only are there indeed bad guys out there, but sometimes it can feel like they're everywhere. But he did need to have his question answered.
He was frustrated, hung up between a perception of not-quite-ready little kid and the reality of an inquisitive and astute big kid.
"Well, I understand that! Why wouldn't they answer me when I asked?"
When you're one half of a split family and you cannot speak for the other parent, you have to choose your words like they're red and green wires attached to a ticking bomb. I don't know why his dad wouldn't answer him. But I tried to imagine myself at a dinner table, with other kids present, and thought about how I would have reacted under the same set of circumstances.
"I don't know why they didn't answer you. Maybe there were other little ears around, ears that aren't yet ready for these answers. Or maybe they were caught off-guard and didn't know how to respond. I will always do my best to answer the questions you have for me. But I do want you to know that they're not always easy for me to say. And they might be even harder for others to say. So if you have a question, and you are having a hard time getting an answer, then you can ask someone else. Like you did tonight with me."
And that was the that. The rest of the night was spent with a movie in the living room, songs before bedtime, and the normal yelling "GO BRUSH YOUR TEETH!" across the house. There weren't any nightmares. No panic attacks over bad guys. The world didn't explode. In fact, I don't think the world has exploded yet from mere dialogue. Pretty sure that's a fact.
So far he hasn't stumped me. But I bet that day's not far off. I'd love to hear from you in the comments on the tricky questions you've been asked by your children, and how you've responded. Would you respond differently if asked again?