I Hate My Children

I hate my children.... I know it is not the politically correct thing to say and many people would say hate is such a strong word - I've heard stronger. I don't worry reader, I mean no harm or ill will toward my kids - but I do hate them. Why? Let's see.

I hate them for the smiles and easy love they give me even when I am mean to them. And by mean I mean that when I may put them in time out when they really didn't deserve it or when I yell a little too loudly at them. Even after such evils by myself, I will hug my son and he will look at me and say "I love you Dada" or worse "I love you best buddy".

I hate them for the easy joy they can find in the simplest of moments or the heartbreak in the smallest of things. My daughter recently burst into tears when her brother's toy airplane got run over by a neighbor's car. She was not upset that the plane was destroyed by this heartless bastard. No. She was upset that she did not get her turn to retrieve the plane.

I hate them for the joy they bring my wife when I no longer can. Maybe this is more envy than hate. The smile she gives them when they go running to her yelling "Mama's home, mama's home" was the smile reserved for me once. No more.

Mostly, I hate my children for the colorless eyes they have. They have friends, not black friends, white friends, Spanish friends ...just friends. They do not know color, they know people. Someone somewhere will ruin that. I will have to explain it. How do explain the pain, the suffering, the hurt of racism, of bigotry? How to explain a word like "nigger"?

This is why I hate my children.