Compassion

The other day, my 7 1/2 year old Isaac and I had this conversation.

(Him):  Mommy, at school, my teacher taught us that not everyone has freedom.

(Me):  That is right, in some countries people are not free make their own choices.

(Him, after being thoughtful):  I bet it is just the kids who don't get to choose, but the grown-ups still can, right?

(Me):  No, in some countries even the grown-ups don't get to choose.  For example, right now, there are some places where all of the women have to cover every part of their body, even their face, when they go outside.

(Him, looking shocked):  Wow!  Why would they have to do that?

(Me):  Because the men who run the government don't like women and don't think they should have choices.  They don't even let women go to school.  Can you imagine if I never went to school?  Then, you would go to school and come home and ask me for help on your homework and I would say, "Sorry, I can't help you with that because I never went to school and learned how to do that."  That is why I am always telling you that we have to be grateful for our freedom, blah, blah, blah.

(Him, after looking distressed and thinking for a long time):  If that happened, I would teach you everything I learned every day when I came home from school.

I was so touched that he cared that the hypothetical me didn't get to go to school, and, even better, that he wanted to help me.

(Him, after a very thoughtful pause):  Actually, I would tell you to get away from that place and move somewhere new and then I would teach you everything I learned at school.

This conversation was a big deal to me because sometimes, as I try to unravel this mystery of a kid, I wonder if he has compassion for other people, or not?  But, to me, this seemed like a very compassionate way to approach the thing we were talking about. 

And, that makes me happy.