My Son Is Safe

They came fast, shouting and shooting. The doors were broken in. The homes burned. The screams echoed in my mind.

The Germans slaughtered the old and the young. They abducted the able. They reduced men to shells. Evil carried a gun and had no soul.

People, yes people, were murdered, piled on one another, burned, and discarded like so many empty matchbooks. The Germans had no souls.

Only scars where Hitler had torn them out.

Hatred hid behind a warped cross and polluted history with a blemish time will never forget.
Then I closed the book, my mind still wrapped up in the horrors of The Holocaust. I walked to the living room, tuned in to Saturday Night Live, and hugged my son.

He’s alive. He had pancakes this morning. I bought him a Pokemon toy today because he’s doing so good in school. I love him so much.

He closed his eyes.

How many sweet kids like him died at the hands of an SS guard.

How many parents watched it happen?

Is hatred stronger than love?

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