Greg Mills ongoing series "The Moppets" can be read here.

Ruby (age 6) is fascinated by race. Her brother (age 3) has picked up the maltese/mexican pigment from Paula (what she calls her "chocolate good looks"), while Ruby has picked up my pale, sun burn-y type skin.

She's constantly prodding her brother, asking why his skin is so dark and hers is so light.

So we discuss the differences between people, how there lots of surface differences, but we all are people and blah.

Last night she asked me a mildly disturbing question: "Why do hip-hop people shoot other people?&

Me: "Who are hip-hop people?"

Ruby: "People on TV who do hip-hop, and have guns, and have skin like Owen's."

Me: "Uh, well, where did you see this?"

Ruby:"Last time I was at Grandma's, she fell asleep with the TV on and I watched a show where hip-hop people were getting chased by police and then arrested."

Oh dear.

So, after some discussion, I figured out that she was talking about gangbangers in particular, and not ALL people with skin like Owen's. Seems she inadvertantly watched COPS at grandma's.

So we talked some more about people are people and the sorts of things that make up Depeche Mode songs.

It was an odd discussion, but I've come to recognize that in no small way, parenthood is a series of odd discussions, ones that often leave you searching for words and force you to ask yourself how you really feel about stuff.

I wish I could say I came out of the conversation fully satisfied that I had help Ruby puzzle through a knotty issue, but I don't think I did.

I've been thinking about it most of the day, actually.

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