I tried to go to the bank yesterday. Why, I ask you, do I always need to go to the bank on National Holidays? Yesterday was MartinLuther King, Jr.'s birthday, or at least when it's observed. I needed to go to the mall (To get something to squish me into that freaking dress) and for my children, the mall = cookies. So I thought I'd swing by the bank and get some cash so I could buy my children a treat for making them stand around in women's lingerie. Er, the women's lingerie section. Of Dillard's. When I pulled up, however, the bank was closed. I made some politically incorrect, insensitive comment, not because I don't think MLK wasn't a great man, but because I was inconvienienced. My six year old, Ethan, asked who Martin luther King was, and so I took advantage of the teachable moment and explained how only 40 years ago black people in our country were treated as second class citizens, that they were forced to drink from separate water fountains and eat at different parts of restaurants, etc, and that MLK helped make it possible for those laws to be repealed. I asked him if he didn't think that segregation was just silly? Ethan said that he couldn't believe that, and that he thought that it didn't matter what you look like, that God loves everyone the same.
*mommy dies at how sweet natured her son is*
Then Aaron (4) pipes up from the backseat.
Aaron. What's black mean?
Me. Well, you know Dalvin? (a boy we take to church with us) And how his skin is a different color than yours?
Ethan. (interjects - anxious to get to the point) He's black, and we're white.
Aaron. (is silent for a minute) I'm not white.
Me. You aren't?
Aaron. I'm peach. (thinks some more) Mommy's white. With brown spots.