There's something a little unsettleling about waking up to find a small child urgently asking "Is he dead yet?" Its even more creepy if its several days in a row. Even CREEPIER if your child isn't cuban, and doesn't even know any cubans.

It all started innocently enough, as so many things do. I was going over some geography with the boys (ages 7 and 9) while the girls played (about to be ages 5 and 1). We were looking at a big map. There was the Atlantic Ocean, and the Pacifica Ocean, and Canada, and Mexico. Its cold in Canada, and Mexico is where tacos come from. We went to Canada on vacation. Mexico is next to Texas. Its warmer than Canada. Italian food comes from Italy, and penguins live at the South Pole. Australia is where Daddy got the boomerangs. You can see it was a rather free-form discussion. Until Lee said "Whats that?" as he pointed to Cuba.

I told him it was a beautiful island near Florida, but that it was a separate country. He was fascinated by the idea. He asked if we could go there. I told him no, because it was ruled by a very bad man. But that the bad man was very old, and sick,and that he would die soon. My boys have no comprehension of "bad", but they were interested so I went to Babalu and found the link to TheRealCuba because it has some really vivid pictures of Cuba.

When the boys saw the pictures (and I edited out the mangled bodies at the hospital) they were both intrigued and alarmed. Where did the pictures come from? How did they get the pictures out? Don't the tourists know better? Where do they get vitamins? And we talked about disease and soap (or the lack thereof) and paint (or the lack thereof) and buildings collapsing and religious oppression and people missing ("in jail" was as far as I was willing to go with small children) and people escaping and getting to Miami and sharks and there was a guy about my age whose parents had escaped and he wrote on the internet about stuff from Cuba. The questions came as faster than I could answer them, never taking their eyes from the screen. As wildly varied as all children's questions.

" Why can't we poison him? We could use pink food and some rocks!" (Note to readers: I have no idea about that one, unless its an indicator of Lee's adversion to strawberry ice-cream)

Why can't we bomb him?" (Because it would kill some innocent people) "We should design a smarter bomb." (But he might kill innocents when he knew the bombs were coming) "Well then, we'll need to design it to do a HALO". (Yes, great alarm that he knew HALO and could apply the concept to his personal problem-solving plans)

Why don't people eat coconuts? (Because they don't get to use the beaches)

Why don't they rebel and kill him themselves? (Because they're weak from disease and malnutrition)

Why don't we? (I don't know. We don't know everything our government is doing. Which is the only answer I'm willing to give a six-year old)

I bet we must have spies there! Planning our next move. Trying to find a way to get him! (Probably)

When I grow up, I want to be a spy and go there and get him! We can BOTH go! Don't worry, Mom. We'll find a way. We're smart boys. (Choking up a little, that he is so wiling to help people that need it, that he is so confident of fixing the world. I explain that Castro is very old and it would be impossible for him to live long enough for my boys to grow up and get trained and go get him themselves.)

So, you're saying he could die any minute? (yes) How will we know? What if he died while we were at lunch? I wonder if he's dead yet? (we can check at Babalu) Can we go check right now? How about in five minutes? Then ten minutes. We'll need to check all the time! (No. We are not going to check every ten minutes all day every day until he dies. We're just not.)

That night, they told my husband "Mom says we can go to Cuba!" Long pause as he looks over at me, a little surprised. I assure him there are stipulations: Castro needs to be dead, and there needs to be a safe government and a stable society. Which might take, what, five years?

They've already started a "things we'll need to send to Cuba when he dies" list. Which is no small thing for boys that aren't that great at writing yet.

Frankly, I thought their interest would taper off. That it was a momentarily interesting diversion from doing their math-flash-cards. But it hasn't. Each day, Lee slips up to me and uses that particularly cajoling tone he usually reserves for charming me out of sugary snacks "You could check and see. You know, if he's dead yet?"

We're on a countdown to Cuba! But I can tell you this, I am NOT doing a geography lesson on Siberia!