Mama noticed I was crying when she came to tuck me in.
“Papa said I was unusual,” I told her.
She sat on the side of the bed and caressed my face, drying my tears. “That wasn’t a very nice thing for Papa to say, was it?”
I shook my head. She sighed and looked at me for long minutes ruffling my hair and petting my face.
“Just remember this when you have children,” she said. “Remember that words can hurt too.”
I nodded and she sang me a lullaby. Then she smiled and said, “You know, Papa wasn’t wrong. You really are a weird little bastard.”
I drifted off to sleep. Mama always knew just what to say.