A gun shoots its children — its bullets — outward.
We shoot ours inward, into our heart.
When they're good, we're shot in the heart.
When they're bad, we're shot in the heart.
They're an affair of kamma, our children.
There are good ones, there are bad ones,
but both the good and bad are our children all the same.
When they're born, look at us: The worse off they are, the more we love them.
If one of them comes down with polio and gets crippled, that's the one we love the most.
When we leave the house we tell the older ones, "Look after your little sister.
Look after this one" — because we love her.
When we're about to die we tell them, "Look after her.
Look after my child." She's not strong, so you love her even more.