Thursday, November 04, 2004

Sometimes it's hard to be a parent.

Sam spent all this time yesterday drawing pictures of Inuyasha, who is a character from a cartoon that he is not allowed to watch anymore. He was real proud of his drawings and they were really good. So he rolls them up as he is leaving for school, he wants to show them to his friends.

I always watch him walk past our house to the bus stop from the dining room window. So he goes out and his two buddies are there, and he pulls out his pictures to show them. I can see by their faces that they are not impressed. (They are hard to impress.) I can see by the set of Sam's shoulders that he is upset.

So they walk to the stop and Sam comes to the window (as he usually does, because I lift Monty up on the buffet and have Lucy in my arms and we all say goodbye.)

His little face.

I can tell he is a little bit devastated. I say, "Did you show them your pictures?"
He nods.
"What did they say, buddy?"
"They said I got Inuyasha's face all wrong."

I could have throttled them. My Sam, so pleased with his drawings one minute and then the next minute he is folding up the papers and shoving them in his pocket.

What can you do? I say, "Your drawings are great, bud. Maybe they would like to be able to draw as well as you, eh?"

He nods.

I say, "what are they, expert illustrators of Inuyasha noses?"

He laughs a bit. He swallows.

I want to bring him back inside. I want to hug him and keep him away from any kid who would make him feel like this. I want to home school him.

But I also have this feeling that this is life. That this is what the real world has to offer sometimes.

Disappointment. Rejection. Crumbs.

So I let him go. It kills me. But it must be done. He will be fine. He, like all boys who grow up to be men, has to take his knocks and learn for himself that he can still stand. How ever would we learn how to deal with shit if we were protected from it all our lives?

And yet, even as I write this, the tendrils of my mother heart are still unfurling towards my boy. Still seeking him and loving him and sending him telepathic strands of encouragement.

He will be okay. I may not recover, but the kid'll do alright.

He is so getting extra Halloween candy when he gets home.



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