When my daughter (we'll call her AL as those are her initials) was in my belly there was one person she would react to more than anyone else: her brother. Prior to her birth, I made the remark multiple times, "You two are going to be thick as thieves." My son (let's call him David - I'll explain later) was 10 when his sister was born; he witnessed her arrival into this world. They have different fathers, but their relationship is seamless. I've told this narrative before, but I think it deserves a platform of focus of its own.
My son is my hero. During the countless court appearances in the last two years I've had to recount the events of the day my family was terrorized by my daughter's ... sperm-donor. With each testimony came a certain growing level of numbness; however I've never been able to chronicle this part without the levies completely breaking down allowing the emotion pour out of me. This incredible boy faced his demon at 10-years-old and he was fearless. He was stronger at 10 than I was at 34. I try to imagine what could have possibly been going through his mind; watching a monster choking his mother up against the dresser mirror, the tiny frail body of his 12-day old sister clung protectively to her chest. Did he stop and weigh the possible outcomes? Did he allow the horrors in of what this man was capable of doing to him if he turned his rage on him? Did he allow even the smallest amount of fear to shake his courage? I've never asked him, but I don't think he did.
"YOU LEAVE MY MOM ALONE! YOU LEAVE MY SISTER ALONE!"
It was a voice of anger and authority I'd never heard come from my son. It startled both me and my attacker. He couldn't believe that what he considered a worthless little chump would dare stand up to him. I couldn't believe the burst of absolute pride I felt in every cell of my being. My little boy was suddenly a fearless man in the blink of an eye. He was David facing Goliath. He adjusted his attention to my son for only a moment, but it was the moment I needed to defend myself the only way I could. I bit deep into the meat of his thumb.
I have always said that my son has an old soul. He is wise beyond his years. He's angry now; 2-years later we are all still healing. Of course, I blame myself; no 10-year-old boy should ever be put in that situation. I blame myself daily for not heeding the red flags that led up to that life altering experience.
Understandably, I'm still unable to bring myself to remotely consider any type of relationship with a man. My dad keeps reminding me that AL needs a father. I am incapable of trusting myself with relational choices. I am intelligent enough to know that I am in no state to cultivate a healthy partnership. That does not, however, negate the instinctual need every child possesses for both a mother and a father figure. David loves AL with all of his heart. The change in him over the last two years has been miraculous. He doesn't attend to her because he feels he has to, he does it with the same love for her he had when she was 12-days old. He does it without thinking.
It's not fair. He's approaching the most formative years of his life; he should not be faced with the duties of a father. It should not be the responsibility of a 12-year-old boy to help shape and form the childhood of a 2-year-old fatherless girl. These are the years when the pubescent hormones give a boy the excuse to lose control and experiment with all of the mischievous things life has to offer (not the "bad" mischievous things, but the fun ones!). He should not be strapped with a child, but what do I do? I won't run out and attach myself to the first man who will take me just so my daughter has a father-figure and I can't diminish the bond that was created between a brother and sister before she'd even taken her first breath. I don't want him to look back when he's 25 and resent his sister for stealing his teens.