Life is but a dream

As the firelight danced in front of his eyes, the little boy snuggled closely to his mother, a soft smile crossing his tender little face. His mother smiled back at him and thought he had best be getting to bed, but he shook himself awake and looked at his mom questioningly.

Mother, what is wrong with black people? He asked, his eyes cocked with innocent confusion.

His mother was flustered and didn't know what to think. Of all the questions the boy had ever asked, this one confused her more than any.

Nothing. She said, with the firmness of a white midwesterner on race issues.

Then why did that man say Barack Obama was a terrorist and unamerican? They said he was black and an arab. What's wrong with Arabs?

His mother's eyes were wide and she barely knew what to say.

Is it wrong to be a black or an arab mother? The little boy asked, wondering why his mom refused to answer his questions. She'd always given him answers before, no matter what he asked. He was so confused.

No, of course not. She said quickly, stoking the campfire to hide her discomfort.

But then why did that man say those things?

The mother cringed to hear the question asked with such sweet tones. She couldn't bring herself to speak. Instead she let the flames shoot higher and higher towards the sky.

Lets sing a campfire song! She said, holding his hands and singing, row row row your boat, gently down the stream, merrily merrily merrily merrily, life is but a dream...

The little boy frowned but sang along, his light and happy voice carrying through the woods and ringing in the darkness.

....Life is but a dream...