This past week I went out to dinner with my mother. We were driving by Shadybrook Elementary, my old school, and my mother said, “Man. I spent more time than I can count in that parking lot.”
Every day from around 1:50 to 2:30, my mother would sit in the car-rider line waiting for me and my brother to get out of school. Her burgundy station wagon was always one of the first cars there, so I never had to wait long. It didn’t occur to me until this week that my mom existed in that car for 30 to 40 minutes a day before I climbed into it, ready to tell her what I made in art class. Never, in the past 20years, have I thought about this fact. I know in elementary school egocentrism is raging, but it should have occurred to me in the last 10 years at least. How have I never thought about this before? It’s like I didn’t realize that she even existed until I got into the car. What did she do every day for half an hour? Did she listen to music or talk radio? Did she read or cross stitch? Did she plan the meals for the next week or make a grocery list? Was she thinking about something my dad and her talked about when he came home for lunch, or was she thinking about how quickly Jason and I were growing up? She did this for 11 years. That’s 30-40 minutes a day, 180 days a year, for 11 years. That’s 54,900 minutes, 915 hours, and 38.125 days. (I used a calculator but this might still be wrong). My mom sat in her car and waited for me and my brother to get out of school for 38 days of her life (and that’s just elementary school). And this just now occurred to me.
All of this got me thinking about my parents and how my relationship with them has changed since I’ve become a (pseudo)adult. I’ve reached that stage where I’ve realized that my parents aren’t just parents…they are people, too. This realization is one of the most rewarding and frustrating parts about growing up. I am friends with both of my parents. Like really and actually friends, and it is such a blessing that I can speak candidly with them. But it was so much safer when they were just my parents. They used to be indestructible, solid as a rock. Once my parents became people in my eyes, I was suddenly aware that they are every bit as vulnerable and just as capable of crazy or sad as anybody else, as all the other people I know. This is terrifying, painful, but fulfilling. It means my ability to be unabashedly and wholeheartedly selfish (without feeling bad about it) has disappeared.
Thank God for empathy. Without it, I guess we would all be complete monsters.
Thank God for my mother who waited in a car for me for 38 days. I think today, Mother’s Day, I will ask her what she did during those 915 hours.
Every day from around 1:50 to 2:30, my mother would sit in the car-rider line waiting for me and my brother to get out of school. Her burgundy station wagon was always one of the first cars there, so I never had to wait long. It didn’t occur to me until this week that my mom existed in that car for 30 to 40 minutes a day before I climbed into it, ready to tell her what I made in art class. Never, in the past 20years, have I thought about this fact. I know in elementary school egocentrism is raging, but it should have occurred to me in the last 10 years at least. How have I never thought about this before? It’s like I didn’t realize that she even existed until I got into the car. What did she do every day for half an hour? Did she listen to music or talk radio? Did she read or cross stitch? Did she plan the meals for the next week or make a grocery list? Was she thinking about something my dad and her talked about when he came home for lunch, or was she thinking about how quickly Jason and I were growing up? She did this for 11 years. That’s 30-40 minutes a day, 180 days a year, for 11 years. That’s 54,900 minutes, 915 hours, and 38.125 days. (I used a calculator but this might still be wrong). My mom sat in her car and waited for me and my brother to get out of school for 38 days of her life (and that’s just elementary school). And this just now occurred to me.
All of this got me thinking about my parents and how my relationship with them has changed since I’ve become a (pseudo)adult. I’ve reached that stage where I’ve realized that my parents aren’t just parents…they are people, too. This realization is one of the most rewarding and frustrating parts about growing up. I am friends with both of my parents. Like really and actually friends, and it is such a blessing that I can speak candidly with them. But it was so much safer when they were just my parents. They used to be indestructible, solid as a rock. Once my parents became people in my eyes, I was suddenly aware that they are every bit as vulnerable and just as capable of crazy or sad as anybody else, as all the other people I know. This is terrifying, painful, but fulfilling. It means my ability to be unabashedly and wholeheartedly selfish (without feeling bad about it) has disappeared.
Thank God for empathy. Without it, I guess we would all be complete monsters.
Thank God for my mother who waited in a car for me for 38 days. I think today, Mother’s Day, I will ask her what she did during those 915 hours.
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