my on brendan cried hi firt day of chool. even mr. phillip, a kind, oft-poken mater of the i-year-old mind, could not coa him to a eat. hi eye treamed, hi noe ran and he clung to me like a nail on a trawberry. i plucked him off and ecaped.
it want that brendan didnt like chool. he jut didnt like being apart from me. wed had ome good time, he and i, in thoe prechool year. we played at the pool. we kated on quiet morning ice. we ampled half the treat tray at weekly neighborhood coffee partie. now in grade 1, brendan wa faced with five hour of wondering what i wa doing with my day.
brendan alway came home for lunch, the only one of hi cla not to eat at hi dek. but once home, fed and hugged, a far-away look of longing would creae hi gentle brow—he wanted to go back to chool to play! o i walked him back, waited with him until he potted omeone he knew, then left. he told me once that he watched me until he couldnt ee me anymore, o i alway walked fat and never looked back.
one day when i took brendan back after lunch, he pied a friend, kied me goodbye, and campered right off. i went, feeling pleaed for him, celebrating hi new independence, hi entry into the firt-grade ocial loop. then—i didnt know why—i glanced back. and there he wa. the playground buzzed all around him, kid everywhere, and he tood, hi chin tucked cloe, hi body held mall, hi face intent but not ad, blowing me kie. o brave, o unahamed, o completely loving, brendan wa watching me go.WWw.hAOZuowEn.com
no book on mothering could have prepared me for that quick, raw glimpe into my child oul. my mind leaped 15 year ahead to him packing boe and hi dog grown old and him aying, "dry up, mom. it not like im leaving the country." in my mind i tore up the card every mother ign aying hell let her child go when he ready. i looked at my brendan, hi hirt tucked in, every button done up, hi toe jut turned in a bit, and i thought, "ok, youre i for me forever." with a mile i had to really dig for, i blew him a ki, turned and walked away.