I forget sometimes that every day he goes to work in a machine that treats children like cogs.
I forget sometimes that every day he goes to work and loves children who don’t have enough to eat, who have parents who’ve been deported, who suffer the brutality of the life of the working poor.
I forget sometimes that every day he goes to work in that machine and puts his own body and soul into the gears to protect those children from being mashed and discarded, so they know that someone believes in them, so they know that someone—a white man no less— sees how brilliant they are, how much they have to contribute to this society.
I forget sometimes that he does all that for too little money, and so also shoulders the ridiculous burden of feeling like he does not provide well enough for his family. And then he comes home to be a father and a husband.
I forget sometimes that he isn’t just “at work”—-
he’s on the front lines of one what is quite possibly the most important thing.