"Hey Mom, What's a strip club?"
He's nine
And holding a political ad in his hands
I hold my breath
But his brown eyes don't turn away from mine
And I'm forced to breathe
The condemnation of this printed trash, circulated as informative, will have to wait because he needs me to answer
How do you describe a strip club to a nine year old?
The darkness of it all weighs on my heart
Women reduced to waist lines, and boobs
Shadowed rooms filled with wanting eyes and empty hearts
Lust overtaking reason and emptying the humanity out of humans
But I simply say
A place where people pay to go and watch other people take off their clothes
His nose wrinkles with disgust and confusion
And I hang on for the next set of questions
Because they come
As do the replies, clarifying as nonchalantly as possible - imagining the topic is lego cities and pokemon cards instead of strippers and lust and sex and the hollowness that's left when we cease to see each other for all that we were created for
But as a child's little hand is lovingly swallowed into that of his mothers - Whispered prayers envelop my words until all the questions are exhausted
I hated every minute of it
Except I didn't
Because he came to me,
He was comfortable, he was patient and inquisitive
He listened and processed and trusted
And
I didn't hate that he chose to ask
Or that I got to answer
These unplanned, vulnerable, entangled moments are worth wading through, praying over and talking about
Because there will be a next time
And I want him to ask
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