[THREE YEARS LATER]
“Why are roses red, Momma?”
“Because God made them that way, baby.”
“What is God, Momma?”
“God is someone who looks after you, takes care of you, and listens to you without any judgments.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really, sweetheart.”
“So does that make you a God, Momma?”
I finally peel my gaze off the pamphlet I’ve been reading and look up. My son has a tiny red rose clutched in his small fist, and his eyes are wide with curiosity. I smile at him, a sudden surge of pride filling my heart. He’s only two and a half years old, but he’s already such a bright, curious boy.
“I don’t know. Do you think I do a good job of doing everything I said?”
He considers the question seriously for a moment before nodding.
“Momma is the only one who is good and doesn’t get angry at me.
