What I want to tell my child after the tragedy in Boston

I can’t keep bad people from hurting others.

I can’t keep you from worrying or crying or losing the class election to a girl with a bigger chest when you’re both 14 and no one cares (yet) about your intelligence.

I can’t make the entire world safer. Or turn back time to just a few years ago when airport security was swift and painless and shoes stayed on feet.

I can’t promise you a bomb won’t explode again in Boston or NYC or London or in our own neighborhood or miles away in Cupertino, where tonight I keep daydreaming of moving and hiding you away.

But I can surround you with people who squeal every time you gain a tooth, almost as if it were happening to them.

I can tell you that more people are good than bad in this world and prove it by filling our conversations with positive thoughts. I can try, each day, to believe it myself until I needn’t try so hard.

I can send my thoughts to those in Boston, but turn off the news. Instead, I can read “Biscuit Goes to School” to you for the millionth time. And I will probably need to hold you in my lap tonight, instead of letting you sit by my side like a big girl.

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