Witness

I am so grateful to have had this week with him. 

Although we did our best, we were both a little brittle around the edges because of the war. His understanding is limited, but kids talk, and not many of them have any useful answers.

I had very few.

Can you imagine this through a child's eyes?

"What did I do?"

 I don't want to capitalize it or name it. I don't want it to take over our lives here the way 9/11 did. Everywhere I look - (even though I don't want to) I see desperate emotions boiling over. This is not Hollywood, people. That's real blood and flesh on that sidewalk.

So we talked about literature. The merits of a series over a serial. (Thanks, kid). Why spelling shouldn't matter. And for that matter, why learn to type when you can speak and the phone or tablet turns your words to text with very few typos.

We struggled with the mind-numbing rote of the multiplication tables. Uncovered my weaknesses. (I did not become confident with arithmetic and a little algebra until Jake learned it. Really. I can keep a checkbook, Amen.)

We emailed each other from opposite ends of the house.

We learned more about odds and more math playing poker and Scrabble. We got some air and sunshine. 

Cooked some wicked spaghetti and meatballs. 

We watched the Braves implode and my spirit animal fell off his perch. 

Things that kids everywhere would do. Goof off with Nana while she snuck in some education.

He could be Israeli.

He could be Palestinian.

He could be Ukrainian

He could be Russian,

He could be American.

All of them. Children.

 

He likes this one best. It's the Man of Mystery. 

Today, there are seventy-four years between us. We put the numbers on paper. He said, "That's not possible!"