Keep it to Yourself, Pal
An hour in the school office left me distracted from more sobering events taking place in the Dominican that day. Bumped teeth, bee stings, tardies, shipping labels, phone calls. An easy way to keep you from thinking about anything of substance for extended periods of time. Just like the old days at the church office.
Anyway.
Ditto was hopping. Suddenly all these volunteers showing up on Tuesday afternoons. On the way out, I snagged a pile of next-size-up shirts and pants for Puck. Growing like a weed.
As I waited in the brick hallway outside Puck’s classroom, chugging slowly through a thin Piper book – normally I eat it up; but it’s a little distracting late in the day in a school environment – I recalled Puck’s question to me yesterday. There he had been, lining up with all the kids, parents filling the hallways …
“MOM! HOW OLD ARE YOU?!”
I think I pretended not to hear. Not because I cared; but just for the principle of the thing. I think he got the message.
“Mom, how old are you?” he almost whispered as he walked by.
“You know how old I am.”
“Tell him.” He pointed to his buddy.
“I’ll let you do that.”
So today, I should have expected another one. This one was slightly less intrusive, but somehow also more insulting.
“Mom! Did you go to college?”
This one I could answer; for my own sense of pride.
On the drive home it came up in conversation.
“I told my friends you got married at nineteen. Their jaws dropped.”
Glad to provide daily entertainment for the youth. But Puck was distracted from further enlightening me on what other items of personal interest he’s recently shared with the classroom, because he found the Ditto bag.
“THIS SHIRT IS AMAZING! THANK YOU, MOM!”
He held up the kaleidoscopic collared shirt in the rearview mirror. Knew that’d be a winner.
El Oso was home way early to take the abandoned yellow cat to the vet for examination while I made grass-fed burgers for dinner and Puck tore back outside in warm-cool winds with friends and bikes.
Later that evening while I prepped for a tribute podcast for Wednesday morning, my boys laughed over Minecraft videos on the couch. Train whistle in the dark a little north of here. Laundry in the dryer. Snoozy cat. Lamplight.