I sat on the edge of the worn green couch, sipping warm black coffee and trying to remember how to make small talk. I tried to remind myself that I had to do this. I had to meet the parents and visit their homes before I could just leave my child there to play.
After we talked about the Holocaust, of all things, she leaned in closer. “Say”, she asked with a smile, “does your daughter have fleas? As soon as my daughter started playing with your daughter at school, she came home with fleas.”
I was hot with anger. I felt the need to defend my children, my home, and my pets. Unfortunately, I also started to feel incredibly itchy.