Diary of a Widower

Daily entries by a husband, who stayed behind with his two sons

Haiti and Hitler

TUESDAY, February 9 – Sitting on the couch, Eamonn leaning against me. He’s reading Garfield and I’m following the news. Haiti. The official death toll has reached 230,000. A man has been hauled alive from under the rubble some twenty days after the earthquake. He’s being interviewed and I don’t give a shit. My world revolves around Eamonn, Sander and myself.

Eamonn looks at me.

‘Papa, what do you think Hitler was like when he was little?’

I laugh. Really loud.

‘No, I’m serious. I always wonder what bad people and big-time criminals were like when they were children.’

It’s the sort of question that only Eamonn would ask. I sincerely hope that when he grows up he will look back on his childhood and accept that despite its bad moments, it still turned him into a good person. I’m convinced that he’s already a good person and will be one for the rest of his life.

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