When they were little for their mother’s kiss.
Little feet hastening, so soft, unworn,
To the vows and the vigil and the road of thorn."
"Thank you for your eloquent essay. I've no connection to Duke or the young men - only a son who is Dave's age and plays lacrosse. My children's father took his own life when my son was 9, my daughters 11 and 13. I frequently thought that I "couldn't go on" over the past thirteen years. I wondered how I would be able to raise "a good and honorable man"; I knew how to teach my girls how to be women, but what about teaching my son to be the kind of man his father and I had wanted him to become.
"An older friend to whom I posed my fears said, "Do you know how they pick fighting bulls?" I responded, "No." "They look at the mother," she said, "that's where they get their heart, their courage." Over the years, when I felt as though I couldn't go another step or that I was failing at my task, I remembered her words. There were a lot of things I couldn't teach my children because I didn't know how to do them myself, but I could teach them to be honorable, to be courageous, and that they were loved unequivocally."