My 10-year-old son is quite poetic and deep. I often think he is an old soul, while my 6-year-old, full of vim and vigor, is a bright shiny new penny of a soul.
It should not have surprised me, when he was spending some time at work with me yesterday, that he observed that the neighborhoods in the city are ethnically concentrated. We discussed how people tend to want to live among others like themselves.
Taking the “teachable moment,” we moved on to discuss how the color of someone’s skin is not important in determining whether or not they would make a good friend. And as if he’d pondered this very concept lifetimes ago, he said, “No, it’s the color of your heart.” Need I say more?