While you were at school today, I watched the morning news. One of those dark-seed thoughts sprouted and I became so upset that I blinked back tears.
You see, Monday is Remembrance Day.
And it got me thinking, about war, about the horrors that man can inflict upon man. Bayonets. Land mines. Water torture. Experimentation. Starvation.
It was at that moment that I realized that soon, too soon, you will learn about these things, and though I want to be the one to discuss these things with you... it struck me that I have no idea what I will say when you begin to ask me the hard questions.
Already, what you ask astounds me, leaves me hollowed, feeling so inadequate, lost.
You've asked me why some parents aren't more loving to their children, speak to them so "awfully." You've asked me why there are countries without enough water and why some don't have enough to eat. You've asked me why people must die, why people aren't more kind and why people hurt each other.
And I've stumbled along, given you the best answers that I can. I have made sure the answers are honest, but I do my best to shelter you from the harsher facts, making sure that what I say is age appropriate.
But one day you will ask me about the Holocaust and Hitler. You will learn about slavery, infanticide and gang rapes. And school shootings. And Syria.
You will ask me what is evil and then you will ask why does it exist?
How can supposedly good people stand by and let horrible things happen to an entire culture? How can someone see more worth in a $6 latte than buying a coffee and sandwich for the homeless man they see every day, but refuse to acknowledge with so much as a smile?
I have taught you that hate is a bad word and one we can choose to use ... or REFuse to use. You- at only four - have already asked me about hate. Our conversation is one I will never forget, always treasure. And that you internalized all that information, that I can see that you have come to understand the power of choice, fills me with such a feeling of peace and hope.
Monday is Remembrance Day.
Your mom feels as small as one soldier's cross amongst thousands, aching for that enormous heart of yours that will shudder when you learn that the villains in your fairytales pale compared to the real life villains, some dead and some very much alive.
Please, just for tonight, ask me about migration, again, or why God invented the letter E, which you say is the worst letter in the alphabet, and tomorrow I do my best try to explain about war.
I love you, monkey. Stay you.