BUS BOY

By: Maria Victoria A. Grageda-Smith

“I’ll be fine, Mom,” he said, this little son of mine,
to persuade me to let him ride the school bus.
All these years, I’ve been his chauffeur,
and now he wants to let me go.
If only I could let go.
My mind surveys scenes of him without me.
My heart races to shield him from would-be bullies.
Visions of school buses throwing off their precious
cargo fill me with dread, let alone, hostage
dramas staged off of Innocents’ Mile.
My rational mind warns me against paranoia,
only to be haunted by other worries—
I can’t bear to think of the possibilities.
Yet there he nonchalantly stands:
Smiling at me with the reassuring smile
of one seemingly strong and wise.
And perhaps he is—as only the young are.
As only the pure-hearted could be.
Though he’s only eight to my forty-three,
he can twist my heart into Boy Scout knots
around his little fingers.
And I sigh, resigning myself
to the fate of all mothers:
We can’t keep what we hold only in trust.
Birthing, alas, is a long
umbilical cord
of goodbyes.

Poet’s Notes: Last night, my poetry and I were featured along with Irish author and storyteller, Catherine Brophy, by CultureAll (a non-profit dedicated to promoting art, culture and diversity to the Des Moines community) in an event called, “An International Evening of Poetry and Story.” In my ad-lib moment, even I surprised my self when I revealed that I was one woman who primarily thought of her self as a career woman. Thus, while my love for my children is not any less than most mothers, I think I struggled than most women on how to become a proper mother. For example, I am sure that playing with one’s children or planning fun activities for them must be second nature for most mothers; in my case, I was clueless. I could speak and write about philosophy, history, politics, art and culture no end, but when it came to defining what was fun for a kid, I was clueless. Perhaps this was partly because as the eldest of ten children in a family of very modest means, I hardly experienced being a child as I was saddled with baby-sitting and cleanup responsibilities early on. So when it was time to mother my own children, I was very good at being a protective mother and fulfilling grown-up responsibilities in that connection, but hardly in being my children’s buddy. For being a friend to my children meant not only playing with them, but also respecting that they were entirely their own persons, with the right to grow and evolve into their natural personalities and to make their own choices at some point. Thus when my son, who has always been an independent- minded person from the start, announced he wanted to take the school bus at fourth grade instead of staying content with me driving him to and from school, I panicked. He was so headstrong about it that I knew unless I confronted my self with the roots of my resistance— which swiftly pointed to some demons of mine—we were bound to be engaged in a power struggle so strong I was afraid it would define and perhaps set an ugly tone for our future mother-son relationship. Thus, I caved in—out of love for him, compelled to trust in order to let go, how not to be a control freak when it comes to my children, how to allow them to explore life on their own terms. The poem above is an exercise in reflecting upon that defining moment between my son and I—an appropriate sharing for Mother’s day. Today, both my children continue to challenge any remaining notion I may have in possessing real control over their choices in life—the nightmare of many Asian mothers like me, indeed. Although I must say I’ve never been the “Tiger” mom like that Chinese mother who wrote that now iconic book on the rewards of being an iron-willed parent, I think I am like her to the extent of our equal and passionate determination to do all we can to keep our children safe. Yet, in the end, I had to learn in concrete terms that like most parents, I can only guide, instruct and then set free— to have the courage to step back and enjoy witnessing the wonder and miracle of what happens when one permits another human being to exercise his or her God-given right to free will—a hard-earned lesson for my children and me that, through our mastery of it, I must begrudgingly also agree, has only strengthened our filial love and relationship, and thus, all the more made us into strong individuals overall. And I’m happy to say that both my children have turned out to be outstanding human beings, so far— the best any parent could hope for! (This poet welcomes empowering interaction with her readers at mvgsmith@yahoo.com.)