Seven-year old Grace and I were returning from the grocery store.
“Hey! My shirt says ‘live in peace.'” She paused. “Like that will happen.”
“Why? Don’t you think it’s possible to live in peace, Grace?” I was shocked by her cynicism.
“Why not?” I was suddenly consumed by dismay. My child was born after 9/11–our country’s been at war her entire life. Many of her friends have military parents. Has my child become disillusioned by life at the tender age of seven? Does she really believe that peace is impossible, that we are doomed to a world full of endless war? “Why can’t you live in peace, Grace?”
She sighed, one of those “my-mom-is-so-dense” sighs, then spit out one word: “ZACH!”
I burst into laughter. She cannot live in peace because she and her 11-year old brother, Zach, are locked in constant battle. I couldn’t stop laughing which made her giggle which made me laugh until I had to wipe my eyes.
As if a girl could live in peace when she has a brother to torment her. Duh.