Interesting news bit today - a dad left his toddler in the car and went in to work. Forgot the child was there. Luckily, a co-worker noticed the child after two hours in the hot sun and called the police. The child will be OK, and the dad will never make that mistake again. What's my point with all this? Just that when I read about tragedies that happen to children when their parent should have been more aware, attentive or whatever - I can empathize with the parent. This is just in the case of accidents of course; child abuse is a different animal all together.
When I think back on the years I was a single parent, raising two children and holding down a full time job, I just feel lucky that nothing really tragic happened. It could have. Easily. For some reason we all made it through OK. I also remember my own childhood. We used to go out in the morning during summer break and stay out until dinnertime. We would ride bikes all over town, hunt for tadpoles, swim in the lake and jump off dangerous heights without much more than bumps and scrapes.
So, when a moment of distraction on the part of a parent, or a twist of fate at the swimming hole, or any number of other possibilities that leads to tragic accidents happen, I know that there but for the grace of God could be me. Life is dangerous.
That's why I love mystery books I guess. Controlled danger. Threats that will be revealed in the end. Right will win, evil will pay. Mystery books are so, so much safer than the real thing.
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