Scrolling through Facebook this afternoon, I ran across a post from a former high school classmate. She had posted a childhood picture of herself and her older brother, in which she was wearing a big red football helmet. She was around three years old in the picture, and looked super happy. Happy and protected. She states in her post that she wore the helmet everywhere, that is was all the protection she needed. After all, “nothing can hurt you if you are wearing a big red football helmet!”
Knowing that this friend has recently been through some personal trials, I’m sure there have been some days when she’d love nothing more than to once again be protected by her big red football helmet. When she was three, she no doubt felt safe in that helmet, in the way we felt safe in our pillow forts built in the living room. You remember…the sheets strewn across the room, tied to chairs and filled with pillows. The coziness of snuggling under that fort, ready to tell stories with flashlights and popcorn. Perhaps that helmet gave her the same safe feeling of a grandparents hug, or the warmth of snuggling with the family pet in front of the fireplace, or maybe the peacefulness of being tucked in by Mom after she’s read your favorite book to you for the twentieth time. Kid stuff. Kid comfort. Things that made us feel safe and protected.
Perhaps her big red football helmet helped her feel invincible. Maybe it lessened her fear of falling off the monkey bars or slipping off the slide. Maybe it was the physical feeling of that protection on her head that provided great comfort.
As kids, most of us had some type of physical item that provided security. Most babies have pacifiers, or their tiny little thumb. As we grew older, we would latch on to a favorite stuffed animal, toy or blanket. Mine was the beloved blue “binky.” A small, tattered blue blanket that went everywhere I went. My binky. Though it didn’t protect me physically, that ragged blue blanket was my big red football helmet. Security. Comfort.
The sad thing is, we’re expected to “adult” at some point in our lives, and hanging on to our security items would most likely be frowned upon. Though, I’ve seen the day when I would have taken that old blue binky to the grocery store with me if I had thought it would have given me more strength to carry on.
When Ella came home from Guatemala, I took a hiatus from teaching in public school to take part in the best job in the whole wide world–being a stay at home Mom. The pay was rough, but the love was amazing. When Ella turned two, I decided she needed to socialize a bit more, so we both found our spot at a local preschool program. I began teaching a class of tiny two year olds, and Ella’s class was right down the hall. One of the little girls in my class brought a Tinkerbell doll with her every single day. She spent every morning holding it tight in her little hand. It laid in her lap during story time. It went to the bathroom with her. We even used our extra chair at the lunch table to let Tinkerbell have her own seat.
I’ll never forget the beautiful fall day that her Mom walked her into my classroom, pulling me to the side, whispering into my ear that they had accidentally forgotten Tinkerbell. Mom had realized it right as they pulled in to the parking lot, and didn’t have time before work to return home to get it. I was horrified. I felt like she was leaving me with a ticking time bomb. I knew that, once she realized Tinkerbell wasn’t in attendance that day, my tiny little student would lose it. I had seen that look in her eyes once before and I truly did NOT want to see it again. We had accidentally left Tinkerbell in the classroom once before, to take a walk on the nature trail. The meltdown was so bad, I had to leave my class with another teacher while I sprinted back to the building to retrieve good old Tink, feeling like a superhero who had saved the day once I returned.
It was a hard day. Many tears were shed. An hour or so into the morning I realized that I had become Tinkerbell. My little student had a tight grip on me and didn’t leave my side all day. She cried when I told her I had to use the restroom–alone. This made no sense to her, as she assumed we would just go together…just like she does with Tinkerbell. We made it through, me and my new little shadow, until the end of the day when Mom arrived to pick her up. Mom had gone home during her lunch break to fetch beloved Tinkerbell, and my little friend was absolutely bubbling over with happiness when she saw her long lost best buddy.
I enjoyed being Tinkerbell for the day. I actually hoped I might get another chance, but she never again forgot to bring her doll to school.
Sure, as her teacher, I could have tried to encourage her to spend a few minutes each day without that tight grasp on Tinkerbell. I could have tried to help her release whatever insecurities she had, making her feel as though she HAD to have that doll with her at all times. But I just knew it was too soon. She was only two. She needed that doll. For whatever reasons, she felt safe with Tinkerbell, and terrified without her. She had Tinkerbell in her little hand on the last day of school that year, and didn’t return the following year. After hearing that her family had moved away, I thought of her almost every day for quite a while. She would be 13 now–Ella’s age. I’m sure she eventually let Tinkerbell go. I wonder when it happened. I wonder where she was when she realized Tinkerbell had been left at home. I wonder if her parents “forgot” Tinkerbell on purpose one day, to see how she’d handle it. I wonder if she had a meltdown, or if she was okay.
I don’t remember the first time I left home without my blue binky. I don’t know if I got scared or sad once I realized I’d left it behind. Maybe I panicked, maybe I cried. But that day was the first of many….for eventually, I left that binky at home for good. I didn’t feel like I needed it anymore. I felt secure without it.
As an adult, I’ve had many days that I would have given just about anything to feel comfort and security. Oh, to be a child again….a child that can be comforted with a favorite toy, that blue binky, or a big red football helmet. Oh, to be back in the pillow fort, giggling and feeling protected from the world.
I guess, as adults, we still have our security blankets…but they become different. They might become people. Our children. Possessions. Faith. God.
I most definitely have insecurities that can only be tamed by God, through prayer. Through meditation, waiting on prayers to be answered….and often thanking God for NOT answering prayers that I’ve prayed–so certain that I knew what was best for me, when I truly had no idea.
I have insecurities that can only be calmed by hearing my daughter’s laughter, or from a good talk with my Mom, or by a hug from someone who loves me more than I feel like I deserve.
Some insecurities are tiny, and can be soothed by a heaping spoonful of peanut butter, or a good laugh with friends. Others are so much bigger–almost crippling, but are always calmed, in time… one way or another.
Ella has no idea what an amazing security blanket she is. She puts up with my random hugs, assuming it’s just a “Mom thing.” She doesn’t know she’s my beautiful, teenage, tattered blue binky. She’s my big red football helmet.
To my high school friend, I hope you read this, and I hope you feel peace. You’ve been through some trials. You’ve had days when you’d give anything in the world to put that red football helmet back on. You even mentioned that in your post today…
…..” I need to go dig that out of storage, I bet it still fits! Watch out, I may start a new fashion trend!”
I hope you do. That big red football helmet might not fit you anymore, but wear it anyway. Wear it as strength. Wear it as confidence. Wear it as knowledge. Knowledge that some days are going to be hard, but those who love you will serve as big red football helmets for you, just when you need them the most. Wear it as LOVE.
And if you DO start a new fashion trend with that big red football helmet, I’ll proudly wear one with you.
We got this.
Kickin' & Screamin' 