School boy...

Oti, you were up early, wearing a nervous smile, a quickened pulse and a desire to get dressed in your uniform before eating your breakfast (which I didn’t allow… Honey on toast has the tendency to stick to clothing). You carted your school bag around the house with you, it sat right by your chair as you ate, and next to you on the couch while you watched TV. Like a cherished pet, it was never out of arm’s length, ever available for patting… Your uniform is crisp and a little baggy. The blue is deep, stark – it matches your navy blue eyes so beautifully. Your shoes look so chunky against your little sticks of legs. Your hair, full of body as always, looking professionally highlighted with those lovely white bits at your temple, sits as it should and smells fresh and innocent. You go to the toilet numerous times, giving you ample opportunity to wash your hands, a task you enjoy and really cling to. You are a very clean boy. Bordering on too clean. We brush your teeth, including your tongue – because you would hate to smell – and I stroke your head often. I want you to know that I know. I remember how it feels. We’re early – get used to it mate, I love punctuality – and Daddy and Grammy are there too, we all know this is a Big Day. We want you to bask in our love, to put our love for you in your pocket and carry it with you, to use it to give you strength when you feel unsure or lost. Your buddy arrives and your face lights up. You seem keener on being with him than with us. A sign of things to come, the move away from Mum and Dad, the move towards a social life that is independent of us. The very reason Mums often cry when their children start school… You two chat about Harry Potter and Star Wars and Movie World, a chat that I initially mediate somewhat, but then tell myself to exit. You draw, and you smile shyly. You ask me to take your drawing home, as you made it for Peggy. You proudly tell your teacher your name, and she is already aware of it. Its uniqueness is paying off – she has never met an Otis before. You stand out already. You don’t cry when we leave, but I do, once out of sight. Just a couple of tears. Tears for what we had, that I am sure I didn’t fully appreciate. Tears for the times you will miss me and wish you were at home. Tears for your relationship with Peggy, which will never be what it was. Now I sit here and picture your face. I hope it has a smile on it.