Once upon a time, there was a mother who had a son. At first, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with him, but as a little time passed, she became more and more comfortable with her new job as a mother, and gradually let her old life slip away while she played with him, and cared for him, and loved him more than she ever thought possible. She knew she could say, when people asked, that she felt strongly that mothers should be at home and so that’s why she didn’t work, or that by the time she and her husband paid for daycare, it made more sense to just stay at home, but deep in her heart she knew the truth – she just would rather be with this boy than be anywhere else in the world.
Suddenly (or at least it was sudden to her) the boy was almost all grown up, and had somehow arranged to leave home for college. The mother became very concerned that he would be cold where he was going, and bought many sweaters, and jackets, and blankets for him to take with him on his journey. “Mom," he said, “you’re picturing me about five years old, walking through campus in my shorts and sandals. I know to cover up when it’s cold, you know, I’m smarter than that."
So, the mother became concerned that the boy would always be hungry when he was far away, and began packing snacks and cups and plates and treats that he could have in his room if he woke up hungry. The boy laughed. “Mom, I have a meal plan, you know. And I do know how to get food if I’m hungry – I learned that here! I won’t starve; I’m smarter than that."
So, the mother began to fret that she hadn’t taught her boy enough about life, and that somehow he didn’t know just how much he was loved. So, she made him a photo album and a picture collage in a frame for his new room far away, and she wrote him a letter telling him just how wonderful he was, and how he had always been such a joy, and how she just did not know how she would get by without him. She clipped stories from the newspaper warning young people of the dangers lurking everywhere in the world, and she tried to tell him all the trials she had had herself when she left home years ago. Her boy listened and then said to his mother, “I’ll be fine, I promise. I’m going to have to find my own way in this world that belongs to me now, too. I’ll be fine. I’m smarter than all that."
Soon, it was the night before the boy was to leave. The mother moved around as her boy that she loved so much packed his clothes, put his old baseball cap in the top of the closet, and put his guitar in its case, soon to be played for people he hadn’t even met yet. The mother looked busy; she folded towels, and wiped down the bathroom counter, and tugged at bedspreads – anything to keep herself, no matter how briefly, in the same place on the planet that this boy was. And then, he turned and smiled. And she cried, and they talked, and in that tiny hallway in an old house in a small town on a coast of a country that was part of a continent that went on to join others on a planet, a part of a story that was uniquely theirs ended. But overlapping that ending was a story just beginning – of caps and gowns, and weddings, and late-night phone calls to announce yet another player born into their ever-evolving story. On that night, he told her how things wouldn’t change, and he’d be home soon, and how she’d maybe even be glad to be rid of him.
But she was smarter than that. |
