This morning I dropped my son, Luke, off at school. For the first time, in a long time, he cried as I left. (I think it was because he saw another little boy crying while being ripped from his mother’s arms.) Leaving him there broke my heart. But I knew I had a day full of errands to run. Hedges to trim and whacking of weeds to do. Things that he would definitely not let me start or finish. I got back in my car and turned on the radio to the news station as I always do. As I started driving back home my mind was racing between thoughts. I listen to bits of the news and thought about Luke every few seconds. The news spoke about segregation of public schools in the city and how it has had a terrible impact on children. Then they jumped to news about the current comical presidential race. I listened on and thought about how stressed everything I was listening to was making me. All I could think of was Luke. He’s at a point in life where he doesn’t have to worry about anything. He doesn’t understand what wars are. He has no idea what poverty or starvation are. His thoughts travel between the real and make-believe. I love to watch him not have a care in the world. When did we start caring about serious things? When did we turn off our playful imagination? His innocence amazes me. He sometimes makes me feel like a 3-year-old. (Especially when I am wearing a red wig with a Captain America mask or a way too small Ninja Turtle costume) All the nonsense in the world disappears. He helps me to be more like him. Less serious. Less adult.