The Christmas muzak was getting to me.

"Tell me again, Paulie. Why are we in New Jersey?" I asked, sifting through strange man-made fabrics of the grossest clothing I'd ever seen.

"When you don't have a lot of money, Jersey is the way to go," Paulie said, holding up an orange Hawaiian t-shirt with palm trees printed on it. "You think Avi would like this? His clothes always suck."

"Why are you buying gifts for him if you're starting to hate him?" I asked, my hand finding a pretty piece of lace and revealing the most grandma blouse I'd ever seen as I pulled it. Overall, the clothing in this discount store's sale table was atrocious.

"I don't know," Paulie sighed, slinging the orange shirt over his arm for purchase.

A little puffball came rocketing towards us and barreled into Paulie. "Look! Look what I find! This store wonderful!" Cha Cha exclaimed, holding up a white teddy bear dressed in sequins and glittery fabric of a Christmas theme.

Paulie took it from him, inspecting it neutrally. He uncovered the price tag on its butt and nodded at Cha Cha. Cha Cha beamed and took it back, hugging it like it was a baby.

"We should have gone to The Basement," I sighed, tossing yet another disgusting waste of lace.

"Hmm, maybe you're right," Paulie said, "but I'm still buying this. Meet me at the car." Paulie smiled at Cha Cha and gathered the bear from him with the Hawaiian shirt. I took Cha Cha's hand and walked out of the store so he wouldn't run away to look at something else.

In the parking lot, Cha Cha started to pull at the silver handle of Paulie's pink Cadillac, eager to get inside from the cold.

"Wait, baby, I have the key," I snickered. I opened my door, then laid over the front seats to get the passenger door unlocked with a grunt. Cha Cha then slipped into the backseat by making the white leather front seat tip forward. Thank god he was tiny.

"Brr," he shivered, rubbing his hands together. I slid into the driver's seat and turned on the ignition, and when the silky heat flowed in we both relaxed. Satisfied, I slipped out again and then swung around the passenger seat.

About ten minutes later, Paulie came out of the store and handed Cha Cha his bear. He handed me the plastic bag containing the ugly Hawaiian shirt without a word and then set the car into drive.

"Where are we going now?" I asked.

"Lunch?" Paulie said, looking behind him as he backed out of the parking space.

"Hey, Cha Cha, where do you want to eat?" I asked, peering around back at him.

"Wait, I know where we should go," Paulie said with finality, gearing up to drive out of the parking lot. "We've got a child in the car and all."

Cha Cha's mouth opened to protest but I sucked my teeth to shush him.

Some minutes later, a familiar red and white checkered figure reflected in the glass of my window and I let out a low noise of disgust. Paulie chuckled. "Big Boy? ...Really?" I asked. "Why am I in New Jersey going to a Big Boy?"

"Live a little, girlfriend," Paulie laughed, putting the car into park nearest to the door as he could.

"Why not a nice diner?" I asked, getting out and letting the little one out.

"Cha Cha, you want to eat here, right?" Paulie cooed to him sweetly, taking his hand. Cha Cha nodded eagerly.

"Traitor," I chuckled, taking his other hand.

Inside we were met with the ruckus of a crying baby and shouting children running around. "Welcome to Big Boy. Three?" the hostess asked, taking three menus from the wall.

"Welcome to real life, more like," I whispered to Paulie. "Please seat us away from the crying baby," I said to the hostess.

"We're only serving one area right now," the hostess informed me.

My discontent grew. If I didn't know what the hostess was dealing with as someone who worked at a place that served people, too, then I'd have been a little more angry. But I understood.

The waitress finally came to take our orders and when I ordered a salad this was met with protest. "What is wrong with a salad?" I demanded, "salad is healthy."

"Order a hamburger. Look where we are. What's wrong with a hamburger?" Paulie pushed.

"How am I supposed to keep my figure with a hamburger?" I asked.

The waitress gave me a very funny look because of that answer. I closed my eyes and let out a very long breath, remembering I was wearing slacks and a button down. Cha Cha looked at me and then the waitress and at me again.

Paulie broke the awkward silence. "And the little one will have a hamburger, too! Thank you!" he handed her the menus to make her go away. But instead, she lingered, giving us a long sour look, now staring at Cha Cha and then at us back and forth.

"Excuse me, Miss," Paulie said hostily at her. Cha Cha was staring at her with his big innocent brown eyes.

"Yeah, got it," she said, snapping her gum and finally going away.

Paulie's hand fell on Cha Cha's puffy hair and stroked it like a cat. Now my anger was focused on the waitress and so was Paulie's aggression. "Did you see the way that bitch looked at our babykins?" Paulie whispered in a hush at me.

"Its like Civil Rights never happened," I sighed.

Cha Cha began coloring on the back of his paper placemat like nothing had happened at all, not saying a word. Did he really not notice the way she had looked at him? Pretty butterflies began blooming from his crayons in four colors of the rainbow, being those were the only crayons provided on the table for kids. I knew Cha Cha was old enough to have noticed her look. I decided not to press the issue, though, and instead took the blue crayon. Cha Cha didn't bat an eye. I joined him, drawing a pretty blue swallowtail on the corner of his placemat upside down.

But Paulie was still spewing smoke out of his ears. His purple nail polished fingernails were tapping the plastic top of the table with clicking sounds over and over.

"Paulie, let it go," I sighed, coloring in one of Cha Cha's creations.

"How can you say that," he whispered in the same hush as before, "she's racist."

"Yeah, but Cha Cha's not saying anything," I said calmly.

Cha Cha's red crayon clicked onto the table and he looked at me. "I go to toilet?" he asked, looking up at me.

"Okay, let's go," I said, offering my hand to him.

"That's another thing, too," Paulie huffed, getting up to let Cha Cha out of the booth.

"What?" I asked, taking Cha Cha's hand.

"Cha Cha's not even all black. Anyone hearing his accent would know that," he said, sitting back down.

"I know you're mad because he's ours, Paulie, but could you please just drop it?" I sighed. Paulie fumed, but nodded. I knew he wasn't going to get over this that easily.

Cha Cha bumped my hand along on the way to the Men's room and inside I leaned against the wall next to the door as Cha Cha went into a marbly patterned stall. I leaned there, thinking to myself. It was true that had this been just three years ago we wouldn't be in here. Most likely we would have gotten a drive thru, due to being highly encouraged not to sit together no matter if Cha Cha was a minor, simply because of the color of his skin. I knew why Paulie was mad. I was mad, too, but it wasn't us who had just been stared at like he was a dog at the table. It was Cha Cha. And Cha Cha wasn't saying anything.

Cha Cha came out of the stall and started to wash his hands. We were the only ones in here, and as he washed his hands I realized how quiet he was being. More quiet than I'd ever seen him. Usually he was a bundle of energy, talking non-stop no matter his English language limitations. But not now. I noticed with a heavy heart that in fact he had stopped talking after that woman had stared at him.

I went over to the sinks and proceeded to wash my own hands even though I hadn't used the restroom, just to do something to stall him. I knew because he wasn't talking that he had to be bothered, and not talking about troubles never helped anybody.

"You okay, sweetie?" I asked gently, standing next to him in front of the mirror.

He didn't respond, sweeping the bathroom's soap bar over his hands a second time. I took the soap from him gently and did the same.

"Cha Cha?" I asked again cautiously.

"It okay," Cha Cha spoke up suddenly, "you not have to say anything. I use to it."

"Oh?" I said, looking at him in the mirror. He was still washing his hands, the only sound in the entire room being the faucets running full blast.

"Yeah. Um...it is...in...Florida, where I born, my Mama, she...well, she...um."

I quickly wiped my hands on my pants to dry them and then placed my newly clean hand on Cha Cha's shoulder. "Tell me," I offered him warmly, trying to calm him.

He gave a long worn sigh and stared at the marbleized sink neutrally. "It is...I hope when I come to New York City...maybe people not care about my skin so much. My Mama. You see it...she care so much about my skin. She try say I not black, how I Latino and white. She try say she white, so I can go place with her. She say, 'my child white, I white, so my child white'. It make me so angry. So angry. My dad black. I AM black. You know it? I not white. I not white at all. I proud to be Latino and black. My Mama Latina. We speak Spanish at home. I go to special class for second language English speaker. I NOT white, Miss. I really hope, I come here people not care if I white or not. But it not true. Why I can not just be me?" He was gripping the sink now, staring determinedly at the drain of the sink.

I was speechless. All I could think to do was hug him. He'd been through so much in his young life, and I couldn't imagine what it must be like to have your own mother trying to hide a part of you that you loved. But I could understand a little bit. I knew what it was like to have a mother hate a part of you so much she repressed it, but not like this. I couldn't compare my experience to Cha Cha's.

I turned him to me and took him in an embrace. He mashed the bottom of his face into my shoulder due to our height difference and he hugged me, his hands wetting the back of my button down shirt, but I didn't care about my shirt. Screw it.

"Miss," he muffled into me.

"Mhm," I said, listening to his precious words.

"I remember one time. One time, I six year old? My Mama try to tell bus driver I white and bus driver not care. So I go to colored section of bus and sit down, and my Mama go so crazy she get throw off bus. I get throw off bus. I just want sit in colored section and go to movie. I not care where I sit. I not get why people care where sit? Why it so important?"

Ah, baby. I didn't know if Cha Cha was too young to understand why it was so important or what. Was it really my place to try to explain it to him? So I just said the only thing I could think of.

"You didn't want to be treated the same as white people?" I asked him gently, still hugging him. It sounded insensitive to my own ears and I hoped it didn't offend him. I hoped he knew it was coming from a kind place.

"I not care. I want just live," he said simply.

"I see," I nodded.

"But," he went on, "my Mama say I not black. That make me want be more black, make sense? It make me miss my dad more. I think she hate my dad. He leave us when I baby. I get she hate him, but I not hate him. I love him, he give me life. I get she not want me black, because he leave us. But I black, she can not change this. I love be black. It me. I love me. But she not love me."

I just nodded and listened, wanting him to get it all out. I wanted to learn more about him. He was a lot more mature than I gave him credit for previously. It made me feel bad for treating him so childishly.

"Miss," Cha Cha said again, parting from me. He looked at me seriously and I gave him an equally serious look. "Why...you not say 'yes, she love you'? People always say this when I say my Mama not love me."

Hmm. I kept my eyes on him and he looked melancholy now, deeply sad, his pain surfacing in his eyes.

"Because my mom didn't love me either," I sighed.

"Oh," he said, looking guilty.

I cupped his face in my hand and his beautiful chocolate brown eyes looked up at me. "I kind of understand where you're coming from, Cha Cha." I sighed and went on. "You have to understand...um...my father was Italian, right? Native. My mom was Irish. I'm considered white, sure, but it's different, too. My father really wanted me to be brought up like a native Italian, but my mom just would not have it. So my father would speak Italian to me and I grew up speaking Italian with him. But he was a drunk, you know? It killed him in the end, and my mom was so ashamed of him because of that. She was ashamed that I was Italian like him, ashamed that I wanted to speak Italian. So she told me, 'who's gonna speak Italian with you? You gotta forget that Italian, dammit'. But I never forgot. I'm proud of being Italian. So I kind of understand where you're coming from. I can't understand completely, because it's definitely not the same, but you're not alone, Cha Cha."

His mouth opened to say something but at that moment the door opened with a squeaking sound on its hinges.

"Come on, I think we should just get out of here," Paulie said, holding the door open for us. "You'll never believe. The food just came and it was a different waitress. I asked her where our waitress was and she wouldn't answer me. Can you believe this place?"

"Mm," Cha Cha said, looking pensive. I put a hand on his shoulder and he sighed deeply. "No, we eat here. It not matter who waitress. We just eat."

"Cha Cha, we can't," Paulie said, closing the door and coming inside.

Cha Cha looked up at me and I gave him an encouraging smile. His eyes went to Paulie. "We just eat. Why it matter who waitress?" he repeated.

"Because you don't deserve to be discriminated against!" Paulie said, exasperated.

"That her opinion," Cha Cha shrugged.

Paulie looked like he was about to blow a gasket, stuck between his love for Cha Cha and justice. Obviously he had been stewing in what the waitress had done while we were away and what had happened at the table without us had been the last straw for him. And now Cha Cha was saying these things. He looked at me with a face of disbelief.

"Let's just eat, Paulie," I told him, seconding what Cha Cha was saying for encouragement.

"No!" Paulie blew, his hands balled into fists. Things had come to a head. Cha Cha's face looked down at the floor, his eyes full of pain. "I'm not going to roll over when people are treating Cha Cha like he's not a person! Cha Cha shouldn't either, and neither should you! What is it we do from day to day? Don't we get discriminated against enough for who we are? I'm not going to sit by when it's perfectly legal for us to be here as a group and be discriminated against!"

Something dawned on me as he was yelling. It had finally occurred to me what Cha Cha had meant about just living his life. He had just wanted to be normal, just go about his business and be left alone. He didn't want to fight. He just wanted to eat.

"Paulie," I said harshly, looking at the way Cha Cha was reacting to him.

"What?" Paulie groaned, totally having had it with my attitude about this.

"You're right, it is perfectly legal for us to be here as a group. That's what Cha Cha is getting at. It's that lady's own opinion to have bad manners. We can go eat if we want to. Let's just go eat."

"You two can, I'm going to wait in the car," he growled, turning to go.

"Paulie!" I shouted, trying to make him turn back around, but he wouldn't.

He slammed the door open and it swung open and closed behind him due to the angry velocity in finality. I turned to Cha Cha and he was still looking at the ground. "Cha Cha..." I said quietly to him.

He heaved a big sigh. His fists were balled, too, and his voice came slowly. "This what I not want," he said shakingly to the ground, "I not want be treat different? I not want Paulie see color of my skin. I not want...anyone see color of my skin. White, black, red, blue. It not matter. Why no one can not see it not matter?"

I took his hand in mine to comfort him, and his fist eased. He held my hand tightly, biting his bottom lip. I could see he was trying not to cry and I didn't want him to cry.

Together like this, we walked back to the table and as promised it was empty. Paulie was noticeably absent as we ate in silence, the cacophony of noise around us by happy patrons increasing the silence at our own table.

My eyes wandered as I ate my salad, and with a shock they landed on Cha Cha's placemat.

Observing the colors, the pretty butterflies, I had an epiphany. Earlier, when Paulie and I had been discussing issues of race, Cha Cha had begun drawing these butterflies in all of the colors he had, using every single crayon. They were all fluttering together in harmony, in peace.

Based on what Cha Cha had told me in the bathroom, it occurred to me how this had been his way of dealing with that woman. He'd drawn all of these beautiful different colored butterflies, their wings blue, green, red, and yellow, all together in fabulous existence. All different but all the same.

I reached over and tousled Cha Cha's free flowing puffy curls lovingly and he gave me a tiny smile as he ate his hamburger.

When we finished eating, I got Paulie's burger to go just in case. But when we got back to the car and I offered him the white bag, he took it and threw it in the garbage. We sat in the car in silence as we drove back to the city, alone with our own thoughts.

I could only think that we all had different ways of dealing with discrimination, and all were correct. But even though Cha Cha was so young, I found his way to be the most elegant. I settled on this thought, looking at his precious face in the rearview mirror, as we crossed the bridge back into New York.