“I’m rich; I’m rich; I’m rich…”
My four year old was singing this over and over in the backseat of the car this evening. I laughed. I was intrigued.
“Why do you think we are rich?”, I asked.
“Because we have a lot of money!”, he happily replied.
I half laughed, half shook my head, half registered the idea that my four year old defined a word to me, and half stepped back profoundly.
My mouth said, “ha, we aren’t really rich, honey.” My mind thought so many things.
I thought about how as a child, I never had the illusion of “richness”. In that way, I guess our parenthood has been a success.
I thought about how relatively we aren’t rich.
I thought about how we are rich. We have a house, and two cars, and we want for nothing.
I thought about how we use this, and sometimes abuse this. I thought about what we do with it, and what we don’t do.
Then, I thought about how sometimes the boys speak such truth into my world that I have to write about it.