Last night he called upstairs, "Are you ready yet?" Waiting for me to watch Kahn academy videos of meiosis and mitosis. Maybe because it was my idea, I insisted they would help. As the video is playing, I realize my mind is wandering and it does not really matter. I am sure there must be a reason every child needs to know about cell division, I'm just not sure what that reason is. After the video, he pulls up the blanket on the couch and falls asleep.
Even though he probably hears my voice lamely questioning, "What time is your Chinese test?" he continues into the car and slams the door. I choose not to go after him, asking if he would like to bring his words to review before the midterm. I don't know whether he doesn't think of these things, doesn't care, doesn't know how to care.
His eyes are acorns with deep secrets behind them. Is is my job to crack them open, or respect their integrity and leave them whole?
I dream he will come through the door with a big smile on his face, eager to share the good news, "I got the part!" or "I aced that exam, lets celebrate." That is someone else's son.
I sit down and cast on 130 stitches. Start the car and drink my tea. Marvel at the myriad of sons in my classroom. Acorns, sea glass, oceans, pebbles. Why?