BY MARY JANE HORTON When I was a kid the scariest thing that ever happened in my world was that – every once in a while – a patient from a nearby psychiatric hospital would escape. The grapevine would be abuzz and we would all be nervous until they were found. When my kids were young, the scariest thing that happened to them was seeing the whole World Trade Center collapse before their eyes. My pediatrician gave me a lollipop and theirs asked them what they would do if they were at a friend’s house and the friend brought out a gun to show them. My childhood, in the suburbs of New York was carefree. Theirs, in Los Angeles was wrought with danger – reports of kidnappings, school shootings, as well as helicopters overhead every night. From the moment my son and daughter were born, I wanted to wrap them in a bubble
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