(Evan, back when he only had eyes for me.)
My son Evan is growing up.
I know I shouldn't be
surprised. For some time now, I've been
listening to the cracks of his pubescent voice as it searches for its new
mature range. I've seen his growth
measurements on the inside of our pantry door move dramatically higher. Soon, we will run out of pantry door to mark
them on. And let's just say I've become
even more appreciative of the miracle of deodorant with so many boys in the
house.
I know that kids are supposed to
grow up. As parents, our job is to keep
them alive so that they can grow up and eventually move out (hopefully taking
all of their stuff with them.) If those
rapidly disappearing groceries and too-small sneakers are any indication, Evan
is indeed actively engaged in the business of growing.
Still, none of these signs fully
prepared me for the day that Evan stopped waving to me from the school bus.
I've been waiting for the school
bus with some or all of my three boys for seventeen years now. The bus stop is right in front of our house
so that means we're able to hang out on the front porch until the bus arrives. We talk, or joke around, or simply see how
far we can shoot our breath at one another in the chilly winter air.
As soon as we see the bus, Evan
grabs his backpack, gives me a quick hug, and runs off the porch to the catch
the bus. As the bus drives by, I wave to
him. Until recently, he'd always wave
back.
After a few days of unrequited
waving, I asked Evan about it.
"I
guess you're embarrassed of your mom," I teased.
"It's
not that," Evan assured me.
"It's just that now we have assigned seats and I'm sitting on the
other side of the bus."
"You
can't wave from the other side of the bus?" I asked.
"I
don't know..." he said impatiently.
"It's just that everything is now... sort of... different."
Different? Life didn't feel very different for me. It was still the same work-family-finances
dance that I've been doing for years now.
Day after day, I'm busy juggling those same precarious balls, stopping
only to clean up the resulting fallout from those I've accidentally dropped.
While I've been preoccupied with
all of this juggling, my youngest boy - my precious baby - was busy growing
into a young man. I am no longer the
center of his world as I was when he was two or three years old. There are other people and other experiences
which have moved into that role, as they should.
The next day, I watched as Evan
boarded the bus and settled into a seat mid-way toward the back. There were girls sitting in the seats on
either side of him and they eagerly started talking to him as soon as he sat
down. I thought of waving to him but
didn't.
As the bus drove away, he glanced
at me. I'm pretty sure I saw gratitude
on his face.
