I am a child

I wrote this a while back. The date isn't relevant. I feel the concepts are.

***********

I am a child

I am a child. I sit with my mother, in the dank walls of a bomb shelter. Above ground, my father carries a weapon. He works hard to defend me. Those were his last words before he kissed me goodbye - "I will fight for you... always." All I know is that I want my daddy's arms. I hear the muffled blast of bombs overhead; the crashes of buildings falling; and even though I clap my hands over my ears, I hear the screams of people dying, always dying, never silent - even in my sleep. In my dreams, Father looks up with one terrified glance before his screams push him into death; and then he rises again... and fights... and dies.. and fights... and dies... and fights... and dies. My dreams never end. 

My mother holds me close. I know it is both for her comfort and mine. I also understand that she has carefully positioned herself so that if any danger enters our shelter, I will live and she might not. I try hard not to cry. My mother needs me. But how can I not cry? 

I must be brave. 

I cannot be brave.

I must have hope.

How can I have hope when every screaming sound of war smashes what little hope I have left? A million times a day, my hope Is shattered.

And boiling deep inside my heart is a growing, seething hatred for the enemy who is bent on destroying us.

I am a child. I listen. I learn. Now I know whom to love and whom I should hate. It is all so clear now. 

I will fight someday. I will take up arms. I will destroy the enemy. This is now my dream. I sleep in my mother's embrace and dream of taking up arms to defend my mother, my family, my home, my country, my world view. I hear the screams of the filthy enemy - only to look at the last moment and see my father's face dying at the end of my weapon. In a fleeting second, and only for that second, horrifying clarity flashes through my tormented mind. We are all somebody's enemy. 

I am a Jew. I am Palestinian. I am Ukrainian. I am Russian. I am Syrian. I am Sudanese. I am a child from every war ravaged home.

I am a child.

I am a child. I sit on the floor with my stacks of Lego. My creativity amasses worlds never before imagined. Or have they?

I appear to be oblivious to everything going on around me. One piece connects to the other, connects to another, then another, until I have a glorious kingdom built. All around me the adults chatter on, and on, and on. It is such a boring conversation.

They're waging wars with words, sharing strategies with their comrades in big people terms;

• Like politics... Conservatives, Liberals, NDP, climate initiatives, economic reform, and countless other current events;

• Like war initiatives... bombing raids, ground invasions, stealth attacks... 

• And how this side or that side is clueless, or horrid, or brilliant, or really the only one that knows what's going on. 

I play with my Lego. This newly created being smashes the other. The big, the powerful, the better... That character always wins. Those fortresses are impenetrable. The enemy's little "strongholds" are fragile. They crumble with barely a breath. They belong to the wrong political party, the aggressor in this war, the "dumb person" that doesn't know how to run a country, the awful kid who is my enemy at school, or the sibling who took that crucial piece of Lego... again...

I am a child. I play. I hear; I might not listen, but I hear. I know whom to love. I know whom to hate.

I rehearse my role as an adult. When I grow up, I will conquer kingdoms, establish strength, and be the hero my family, my town, my country, my world needs. The enemy's fortresses will fall, and mine will become forever stronger.

I love to play. I settle problems with my imagination. I hear - and I will be the one to win. 

I am a child.