Fabiola Flores was born and raised in Guatemala City, Guatemala. She has lived in the United States for 20 years, and calls Newton, Kansas, home. She lives with her eleven-year-old daughter, Camila. She works for Mennonite Mission Network as an assistant for Latin America and East Asia. She attended Bethel College and enjoys drawing, writing, reading, motherhood, friends, and African violets.  She also has a passion for working on anti-racism efforts. 

Lately I have been feeling overwhelmed with the world; feeling a great sense of helplessness as we dare to ignore our own humanity.

But that is not entirely true, is it? We have not forgotten ourselves completely. I was reminded of this by my daughter, who is 11 years old and who loves deeply, cares unconditionally, and genuinely delights in the magical aspects of life; our lives.

We came home after a long weekend with family. We were tired from the drive, and oh-so-happy to be in our own home. My beloved child asked if we could watch a movie. I let her pick the film, and she chose Selma. We both had wanted to see this film ages ago, but we never got around it, so this was as good a time as any.

We settled comfortably in my bed, a few minutes into the movie, and cuddled together, watching a black woman being denied her right to vote. I already knew this would be a difficult movie. And my child said, “Why haven’t we learned this in school?”

Soon after this question, death and violence covered the screen and attacked our hearts. I cried silently and watched while my child sobbed uncontrollably at the images of a sad history unfolding before us. She sobbed loudly. Her reactions and emotions sailed high and low and she sat with my arms around her.

The movie ended. She promptly searched for the song “Glory,” by John Legend. She sang along and cried some more.

We talked for a long time afterwards. We talked about oppression, race, the myths and social constructs that shape our lives, the nature of power, the why, the where, the what, the who. I admitted to not knowing a lot and to not always understanding. She seemed to understand and accept that.

It was within the experience of seeing my child have such an emotional reaction to a powerful film that addressed such difficult points in our history—followed by our open, honest, heartfelt conversation—that I found in my beloved child, once again, the strength of her humanity. In her honest desire to be aware of these unspoken bits of who we are now, I was reminded that as long as I ache, and others ache with me when pain afflicts a stranger, humanity is not forgotten.

In our case, being Latin, we don’t have the luxury of choosing whether we are aware of racial conflicts or ignoring the oppression of any one group. Once you know how it feels with your own skin, you can’t turn a blind eye to another’s suffering.

I don’t believe in sheltering my child from knowing what is happening around her. It is because of ignorance that we continue to stumble upon the same stone. It is quite a stupid cycle.

In my own child I see the hunger to know, to understand, to get a glimpse into what has made this nation, the people and the systems what they are. I’d be doing us both a disservice to underestimate her ability to grasp it. I would be allowing for the perpetuation of ignorance and the intolerance of fear to be within her.

I, for one, would rather see her tears and pain in order for her to stand taller, to offer kindness and to be brave.

As long as we both can feel each other’s pain and openly hold each other up. As long as we seek a wellbeing that is mine, hers, and yours, I will believe that humanity has hope. I will believe that we have not yet forgotten how to see each other clearly, or rather, to see each other’s humanity, and not meet with our defenses up.

Who is my daughter to be, as she grows, as she develops and as she walks into life every day? I hope that she doesn’t forget what she has learned and that in whatever situation we climb into, she remembers to cry, to hold, to listen and to make use of her extraordinarily tender human spirit.

Every other Wednesday, we’ll be publishing posts about parenting, faith formation, family and Anabaptist identity. This post is the first in the series.