“Hagar reached into her pocket and pulled out a small round mirror. It was bi’dah (an innovation) and forbidden. When it had fallen from the purse of a Western woman entering a taxi with her newly acquired purchases, Hagar had quickly scooped it up and tucked it into the folds of her hijab. It was hardly big enough to show her entire facial features. Prior to that, she had to catch a glimpse of herself in a shop window. There was not one mirror in her family home. Now she hid in the courtyard as she pulled out the mirror. She examined her teeth. They were white and strong within her light brownish-pink lips. She pulled down her lower lip to take a look and stuck out her tongue. It had a velvet texture. Tipping the mirror up a bit, she noted her straight nose, flawless olive skin and wide dark eyes under the umbrella of her eyebrows. For the first time in her life, she felt beautiful” — Arsenal, Tammy Swofford. Recently, a 16- year-old girl suffered an acid attack that exposed her scalp and ate away the tissue of her face, chest, arms, legs and one of her feet. The girl was seen talking to a boy outside the family home. Her parents decided that a vicious fatal attack was the answer for their parental angst. There is little doubt the young lady suffered in a horrific manner prior to her death. Most assuredly, her parents had taken leave of their senses long before they determined to murder their daughter. Human biology and emotional responsiveness remain elusive mysteries, which we do not fully understand. As we leave childhood and enter young adulthood, hormonal responses have a tremendous play with our bodies and minds. And we perceive these issues in a completely different manner when our children begin to respond to the natural hormonal responses that signal the beginning of procreative capability. I fondly remember my transition from childhood into adolescence. I distinctly recall the day when I came to a startling revelation that the opposite sex found me attractive and fascinating. A 17-year-old boy kissed the top of my head and admired my hair. The spark of a thought that I was desirable had a rubber band effect. Suddenly, boys were attractive to me too. Dolls were laid aside. Where was the nearest perfume counter? I begged my mother to let me have my ears pierced. And certainly, my bedroom needed a full-length mirror. There is nothing so empowering like believing oneself to be beautiful — in spite of gawky features, acne, and slightly crooked teeth. Years later, and having kissed too many frogs to find a prince, I settled down as a contented wife. When our two sons entered their own season of elusive mystery, I was reminded again of the exhilaration, high drama and occasional tears during my own maturation process. So I was determined to do my best to watch my progeny mature whilst playing a supportive role. Childhood is for training, but adolescence is all about navigation. The innocent little babies we bundle up and show off with so much pride grow up. As they enter the rough waters of discovery to travel to the harbour of their own unique identity we are there. We are there with mercy and grace. Paradise may lie at the feet of a mother, but every mother knows that the haunches of Satan are also crouched near her children. Babyhood is simple compared to dealing with a hulking 200-pound, six-foot son or a daughter’s boyfriend from hell. In the case of my sons, I proudly declare they are “strong as apes and half as smart”. They get the physical strength from their dad and naturally, I take credit for their diminutive intelligence. But again, adolescence requires navigation, not acid attacks. When our children transition from childhood into adulthood we learn significant lessons about parental love. Your child can make a horrible decision. You have a choice. Love them or stiff-arm them. You can teach them and move on or isolate them and strain the family unit. Your child can cause a level of parental anguish that robs you of your sleep and leaves the pillow stained with tears. You have a choice. You can become engulfed in the moment and be totally destroyed. Or you can imagine what they might look like in 10 years. The verdict is never in regarding a child based on any given incident that causes us pain. Wait 10 years. The rascal who gives you fits may later become the favoured child who sends you flowers on your birthday. Family honour can be a thorny issue. This is especially true in tribal areas where everyone knows the business of the other and genealogy is so important. A misbehaving child sends an insulting slap through the family tree. Dad, mom, grandparents, six aunts and uncles, 18 cousins and 49 second cousins internalise the shame. This shame is retained and cannot be released minus a very public show of family disapproval. Acid attacks on women are the violent end-point for family shame. To the parents of a young lady killed in an acid attack and to all other parents who believe that violent physical harm toward a child is justified, let me note the following regarding raising a daughter: Until you love her enough in spite of what you see, you do not love her enough. Until you love her enough to forgive her vulnerabilities, you do not love her enough. Until you love her enough to refuse to cast her aside, you do not love her enough. Let me leave you with a blessing of peace. The writer is a freelance journalist and author of the novel Arsenal. She can be reached at tammyswof@msn.com