“I don’t like it when grown-ups kill animals and take their skin and fur to make things. When I grow up I’m going to make people stop doing that. I’m going to talk to the president about it.”
Ava casually spoke her thought out loud, as if discussing her favorite toy. She was leaning against the front door patiently waiting for the rest us to put on our jackets when her words stopped me mid-step. Amidst the chaos, her voice struck my core like a vibrating guitar string completing a chord. A tightness rose to my throat. Looking at my 6-year old daughter, I saw old-soul eyes, like she already lived a thousand years. Who told her this? What inspired such depth and activism at such a tender age? Questions sprinted through my mind only beaten to my voice by an attempt to express pride. Swallowing hard I said, “Well good for you Av -” My husband interrupted me with an effort to start a Save the Animals revolution. “And I’ll help you Ava, we’ll do it together!” He said. “No daddy, only I can do this.”
