My son has started to take the bus home. First time since he
began his school life so we are all still getting used to the new routines.
Last night as we were chatting about the schedule for today,
I realized today is the first official day my children will take the bus home
together. Weather permitting off course. And I told my son that his sister’s
Friday activity does not start until next week but once it starts he could have
the choice of coming home with his dad or continuing to catch the bus.
To which he responded, “I think I will continue to take the
bus home. It gives me great pleasure to take the bus. To walk with my friends…”
and he had a truly wistful and grown up look on his face. My heart warmed just
looking at his face. In awe of the sense of accomplishment mixed with a sense of pride his
whole being exuded.
Then it hit me. My
little boy is growing up right before my eyes. Gaining his independence from me.
And I smiled feeling comforted he feels secure enough to want to take his own
path without fear.
As I walked out of his bedroom I realized the route my son
walks from school is almost the route I walked from school when I was his age.
But my walk and my ride on the bus were longer than his both metaphorically and
physically. When I was his age I walked from the public school further up the
road sometimes worried about feeling inferior to those rich children that
attended the private school my children now attend. Now realizing the stories
of those children’s lives may not have been that different from mine.
My bus ride was a much longer ride than my son’s because of
where I lived compared to where we now live. But when I think back I needed
that longer ride. To lose the tough girl exterior I carried to protect myself
from feeling too vulnerable as a newly motherless daughter. To make room for
the 13 year old Cinderella persona I took on when I walked through my door.
Cooking for my family. Doing homework. Getting everyone ready for the next day
because I became the mother and woman figure in my home
I held on to his door knob digesting our intersecting paths.
A warmness filling my soul as I understood life brings us full circle to when
we were children through our children. To allow us to remember what the world
felt like through their eyes. To remind us to let go of them sometimes
so they can experience rather than us telling them what their experience should
be. Letting them explore on their own so they can come back when they are ready
to talk to us to help them understand what it is they are experiencing. And
that is why my son has ended up on almost the same route as minewhen I was
his age. To teach us both something about ourselves. About letting go and
trusting. About growing up. About feeling worthy. From different vantage points
but on roughly the same path.
And then I let the door knob go and walked away. Comforted
in knowing my son and I are exactly where we need to be. Grateful for understanding the importance of letting go knowing how much rope I had when I was his age and how well I have turned out. Grateful for knowing it's okay to give him some rope too. Grateful that I am still here to experience his growing up with him.
No comments:
Post a Comment