Questions

Bath. Book. Bed. And sometimes questions. Little ones, like: 
"Can we take Sammy to the park tomorrow?" (Referring to his stuffed dog.)
"Can I have a sleepover?"
"Can I have a dog?"

I wasn't expecting this next question, and yet, it is one I have awaited since he was born. From the tone is his voice, I could tell it was one he had been waiting to ask. 

"Mom, it's important. I need to ask you something."
"Yes?"
"Mommy, did someone else borned me and then you agreed to take care of me?" 
"No honey. I earned you (his term) all on my own. Why do you ask?" 
"Well then, why don't I look like you? Why is my skin different colors than you? Some people say you didn't earn me." 

I've heard it as well. The questions about adoption. 

His eyes turned away from me, down, and to the opposite wall.

"No, sweety, you do look like me.  Your skin is different because your daddy is dark and your mommy is light and when we mixed, we made you. But you have my eyes! You have my hands. Edem, you have my heart."
 
And there it was, his smile. His sweet, sweet smile. And his eyes, locked on mine. 

"I do have your heart. God gave us this heart."

Pause...

"Mommy, why are some people different colors?"

"Well, they are different colors because they originate from different parts of the world, with different sun exposure and different---- Honey, people are different colors because that is how God designed us. To be colorful and beautiful and interesting. Everything the same wouldn't be as wonderful." 

Hug. A tight one. 

"Good night, Mom. "
"Good night, my handsome one."

Breath. Step. 

"Mommy..."
"Yes Edem?"
"Mommy, God is smart. And an artist."



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