Image by Eugene Ivanov /Shutterstock.
This past spring break, I took my 14-year old daughter to the Illinois Holocaust Museum and Education Center.
My daughter has had a difficult middle school experience, especially these last two years. This last year, we have both, in describing it, used the word “hell.”
We have been frequently at odds in these months, my daughter and me. I often feel that I have failed her, that I have failed myself.
One point of connection has been her explorations around World War II and the Holocaust. She has read books about it — novels, mostly. We have watched movies that, in my naiveté, I didn’t imagine she would watch for a while. There have been questions, discussions, recollections of stories her grandfather, a WWII vet who is now deceased, once shared with her, with me. There have been nightmares, too, where I wonder if we are, yet again, making the best choices in our twisting, turning journey through this year, this path.