Raising Cain

I have vivid memories of the day. Jen, my college roommate and I, young, jubilant, carrying our backpacks, exited the Madrid subway system into bright sunlight. We had been traveling for weeks already - Ireland, France, Portugal - and we felt drunk on our success.

We exited with the sun on our faces, invincible. We'd met hundreds of student travelers, like us, and we were in love with them all, every one, the whole world. We forgot it was early, barely six in the morning, in a strange, huge city. We had no idea that we'd chosen the wrong stop. We were miles from our destination, a small youth hostel. We were not in a 'nice' neighborhood. It was hard to tell, with all the shops still barred and closed, the first commuters just appearing.

I imagine that as we studied the map of Madrid in our guide book, he studied us. He saw the nylon rope around my neck, the bulge under my thin t-shirt. I'd removed my heavy sweatshirt in the hot morning sun. He knew it was a money pouch, made for carrying travel documents and cash.

We started to walk, some what realizing our mistake, but unalarmed, completely off-guard. We'd met humor and help every single place we'd visited. We had rosy expectations of the world and those in it.

I imagine he followed and planned a little. Maybe got ahead of us and circled around, waiting for his moment.

When he approached us, I felt no fear. He was young, late teens or early twenties, he smiled, he held out a piece of paper and my mind registered only another traveler, lost like us. I remember he was attractive, no facial features stand out, just a dark flop of hair that bounced in his dark eyes.

I stopped for him, my body relaxed, my expression open, and he went for the pouch around my neck like a killer cat.

My images of our struggle are fragmented. I screamed. Jenny screamed. Over and over, high and desperate. He pulled with all his weight and strength in quick, painful jerks and I held the cords as well, more in an effort to relieve the pain than to try and protect my entire meager life savings. People started to run towards us and still the green nylon held. He gave up and ran away.

The rope burns remained on my neck and hands for weeks, but as physical attacks go, it was mild. He must not have had a knife, he never tried to cut the cords. He could easily have twisted the cords and strangled me, but he didn't. He never struck me, though I kicked the hell out of his shins.

I wonder sometimes, is that because he was at the beginning of his crime career and too unsure to be vicious? Or were there more morals involved? Did he truly just want the money and some costs were too high? Is he in a Spanish jail now or did he grow bored of robbing tourists and go to college? Maybe he was a pretty good kid goaded into trying to swipe a tourist's money by poorly chosen friends?

Who knows? I can't say what he learned that day. I did learn. I still think about how strong that boy was, how much power resided in his arms. He was my size, my age, my height, slight and wiry, like me, but he was considerably stronger than I was. To the point that a physical contest was laughable.

That was the first time I understood what it means to be physically less than a solid fifty percent of the world. I don't mean in a 'weaker sex' sense (insert girlish giggles). I mean biology. I mean his arms were built for a different purpose than mine. I could work out for ten years and not match that strength. I could learn techniques, I could learn surprise and weak points, but I could not achieve his power.

Matt would never be targeted in that way, not at twenty and certainly not now. Of course, he could be surprised. He could be robbed with a weapon. But just walking down the street, a quick target, some fast cash? No way. He is a powerful looking man and he lives in a slightly different world than I do.

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I've thought about this incident recently. Our sons will be powerful men some day - and not in twenty years either. Twelve? Maybe less. Garrett is right on track to match his father's six foot 200 lb frame.

He hauled off and whacked me on the side of the head a few days ago, as I carried him upstairs for a time-out. It hurt. He was beyond furious at me. I could see him struggle for a proper vent and then lose it completely. He repented immediately and crawled into his bed for his time-out sobbing he was sorry.

Garrett's swing at my head startled me into noticing how much he's changed and how I've failed, so far, to adjust. He's also been leaning on me when he wants me to stop what I'm doing. It's aggressive and unpleasant behavior and it makes me feel combative toward my not quite four-year-old. He is testing. He already senses his strength. I can barely lift him for hugs, carrying him to time-out takes my breath away and that is with his cooperation. My days of responding to unacceptable behavior by simply removing him from the room are numbered.

Discipline is reaching a crossroads because my babies are reaching one. They are almost four. Not toddlers, kids. Kids that are too big to be carried to time-out. Kids that are going to have to choose whether to spend five minutes in their room when I ask, or lose other things (MANY other things) until they comply.

I want more for my boys. (For my daughter too, but in our house, this is gender-based. She is rarely physically aggressive.) Beyond learning, as a mother, to change my parenting as they grow, I want them to understand that uncontrolled power is its own weakness. I want them to know how to be respectful and kind, open doors, carry bags, without intellectual condescension. I want to raise kind, gentle boys.

I stressed until I remembered that they live with a powerful man who is gentle. They see him focus his strength on building projects, cycling and work-outs. The live with a man who, in the nineteen years I have known him, has never physically forced someone to do anything. They live with a man who is courteous without being (usually - leaving aside when I hit the garage and now the driveway gate) condescending.

Is it too much to hope that they will pick this up, like a language, effortlessly?