Yesterday morning on the three minute drive to school,
Deaglan asked me this:
“Mommy, those kids that live in the poor place, do they have
Daddies?”
“Ya, they do.”
“Then why don’t they have toys?”
“Because their mommies and daddies don’t have the same kinds
of jobs that Daddy and I have. A lot of them don't have jobs at all.”
“Why not?”
“Because they aren’t as lucky as we are. That’s why it’s
important to share our money with them.”
“So they can get toys for their houses?”
“Some of them don’t even have houses honey” I said, choosing
my words carefully. “Sabina and Keerthana probably live in small huts that have
no bathrooms or even kitchens. When they get the money we send them, they use
it to buy food and clothes not toys.”
“What’s a hut?”
“Like a tent.”
And then after school, he ran through the door wearing a
poppy. His teacher had dulled the sharp end of the pin with a bit of balled up
masking tape.
“Who gave you that?” I asked.
“Mrs. V.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to remember the dead.”
“Oh ya? Why do we need to remember them?”
“Because they fighted for us to give us Canada. That’s why
we have to wear the poppy. There’s something about blood too but I don’t
remember.”
“Oh,” I turned to Naveen just then who was hitting the laptop
with a plastic hammer.
“Navie, cut it out! Hammer the cushion on the couch instead
please.”
“I don’t wanna hammo the couch," hitting the laptop again.
“If you hit the computer again, I’m going to take that away!”
“MAMA, YOU NOT THE BOSSA ME!”
“Actually, yes I am.”
Then a few hours later, just before bedtime Deaglan asked me if he could listen to his song. I found it on my tablet and handed it over to him. I glanced his way watching the Youtube video. His face was thoughtful; melancholy, even. I sang along softly while I changed Naveen's diaper. Deaglan looked over at me. Our eyes met and held for a few seconds. He smiled, a shy sweet dimply smile and then went back to watching his song.
