This is Privilege

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It’s late.

Our home is quiet except for the whir of the ceiling fan, keeping me cool. 

My toddler is snuggled against me. He wants to play Uno the way his big sister and brother do, so we pass the cards to each other, again and again, for what seems like an hour. 

I’d love to go to sleep, but it doesn’t look as though sleep is in my future.

Most nights I’d complain, and because I’m human, I think that sometimes, I’m allowed to be a disgruntled parent. There is room for me to grow. 

But tonight, I realize the depth of this moment. Tonight many of my friends repost Anne Frank’s words from 1943,  “ men, women, and children are separated. Children have come home from school to find their parents have disappeared.” 

Those words ring true once again.

I know that luck has put me here, 

on this couch, 

with this sweaty little body pressed against me. 

There is no other explanation.

This is privilege,

And I simply can’t complain tonight. 

Only love can fix this 



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