When parents' eyes cannot reach, who is it that protects the children?

I wonder when it started.
The moment I began to feel that "parents alone can no longer protect their children."

Have you ever felt that way?

When they were babies, holding them was enough.
In their toddler years, I was always by their side, keeping them within reach of my hands and eyes.

But once they reach elementary school...
Little by little, the time they spend alone increases.

The route to school. After school. Adventures with friends.

Places beyond a parent's reach are spreading throughout their daily lives.
Elementary school students, still so small and with innocent hearts.
I face the difficulty of keeping them safe every single day.

Even so, I've been thinking lately.
That "there are beings who protect my children in places where my eyes cannot reach."

Today, I would like to write about a small miracle and a story of warm watching over
that I felt on one such weekday afternoon.

My second-grade daughter, Kinako, usually goes to an after-school care program.
But on days when I have a weekday off, she sometimes says, "I want to walk home with my school group today!"

Since most of the neighborhood children go to after-school care, she ends up walking alone for part of the way home.
Feeling a bit worried, it has become my little habit to go out for a "pick-up walk" a few times a month.

As I walk the school route on my own feet,
I check the scenery the children see and end up imagining various dangers.
Suddenly feeling anxious and wanting to see Kinako sooner, I sometimes pick up my pace.

But as I walk like that, I noticed something strange.
On the days I go to pick her up, the local elderly people are almost always outside.

A quiet grandfather calmly doing farm work.
Grandmothers laughing and chatting at a neighborhood gathering.

As I pass by, I smile and greet them.
Sometimes they even call out, "It's rare to see a young person walking at this hour!"

When I reply, "I'm off today. My child said she wanted to walk home, so I'm picking her up because I'm a little worried,"
they reply with warm words like, "Oh, is that so? You're working hard."

As I walk, I suddenly remember.
The time when I was an elementary school student.

Through the four seasons, feeling the scent of the wind and the texture of the grass, I walked home with my friends every day.
We would play plantain sumo, tease each other with foxtail grass, and race bamboo leaf boats in the irrigation canal.

There was even a game where you couldn't step on the shadows of cars.

In those days, there were no parents in sight.
Time just for me and my friends, time just for the children.
It was an exceptionally free time, like a treasure that remains in my heart.

So perhaps I shouldn't interfere with that time too much.
Thinking about that, I continue walking along the school route.

In the distance, I see a small group of two or three children.
One of them waves.

"Oh, it's Kinako and the others."
The sense of relief in that moment.
I want to thank them from the bottom of my heart for that small miracle of them returning home safely.

"Today, I was taught a secret path by so-and-so!"
Kinako says happily.

While thinking to myself, "A secret path?! You went off the school route?"
When I ask, "What kind of path was it?"
She says, "I'm not telling Mommy," which makes me even more frustrated...

"Please be careful, because if something happens on a path that isn't the school route, I'll be worried,"
I say, sounding like a parent, and all the children nearby say in unison,

"Yeah, yeah, we've been told that so many times! It's just the path right over there, so it's fine!"
...Ah, I might have been officially labeled as the "nagging lady."

After saying goodbye to my friend halfway, I walked home with Kinako.
As we passed by the field where the old man from earlier was working,
he looked our way for a split second, just as I expected.
When I greeted him, he only gave a slight nod, but somehow that alone was reassuring.

We also ran into the group of elderly women who were chatting by the well again.
Then, they said this to me.

“Oh my! So you’re that child’s mother!?
Every morning when we see her, she greets us in such a loud, cheerful voice.”

“There are so many elementary school students these days who don’t even say hello when we greet them first...
I always thought she was such a wonderful child for being able to greet us properly.
I guess greetings are inherited from the mother, aren't they?”

And then, they continued by telling me this.

“You see, we gather here every day to chat like this,
timing it with the elementary school students' commute.

It’s a dangerous world lately, isn't it?
We might just be a bunch of old ladies who can't really do much,
but with us chatting right here,
there aren't many people who would try to do anything bad, right?”

At those words, I bowed my head and said, “Thank you,” from the bottom of my heart.

On the way back home,
I spoke to Kinako slowly.

“It’s amazing that you can greet the people in our community so well.
Greetings are the foundation of everything. You’re wonderful for doing that so naturally, Kinako.”

Then, Kinako said, looking a bit embarrassed.

“Mom, you always greet people so cheerfully, so I’m just copying you.”

Perhaps I managed to show her the back of a good mother for once.
Thinking that made me feel a little happy.

“The people in our community aren't being asked by anyone to do this,
they are choosing of their own free will to try and keep the elementary school students safe.
You children are the treasures of this community. You have to be grateful.”

When I told her that, Kinako smiled, looking embarrassed again, and gave a small nod.

There is surely no way to protect children completely anywhere.
However, through that afternoon, I became convinced.

The “watchful eyes” surrounding children during the “times when parents aren't looking”
are by no means limited to just the parents.

People in the community connected by a simple greeting.
The presence of others and casual conversations are quietly protecting the children.

I want us to be a society where everyone protects someone else’s precious child like this.
Security cameras and patrol cars are important, of course.

But I believe that just as much,
kind “human eyes” and “hearts”
are what support the children’s future.

May Kinako, and all children,
have days where they can believe that they are being watched over by someone.