Monday, June 16, 2008

My Real Mother

"My mother's here," said Anthony.

I'd never seen him so happy.

You mean your grandmother? I asked. She'd been up to the school several times, especially after he'd gotten in trouble. See, there was that incident when I caught him with the survival knife in his bookbag. Apparently he'd felt it necessary to carry it for protection.

With the way he got picked on every day, I could understand why.

"No. My mother's here," he said again. "My real mother."

I wondered briefly if it were possible to spontaneously combust from sheer joy.

"She's in the office," he said. "She's waiting for me."

Can I meet her?

"No," he said. "She can't stay. I just wanted to tell you she's here. My mother's here. My real mother." He grinned one last time and ran out of the classroom.

For half a minute I was tempted to follow him, tempted to find her in the office and ask her where the hell she'd been. But I didn't. Anthony deserved this moment.

Later, when he was older, he'd ask her that question himself. For now, I could only hope that he' be satisfied with her answer.

2 comments:

GO said...

It was not until I was in my late 20s that I met my real father. The last few years I have no idea where he is or if he is even still alive. Yes, Antonio will have questions.

Cecilia Baader said...

Well, she came to school to pick him up again Tuesday, and I finally met her when I was coming out of the building. A lot of things about Antonio suddenly made a whole lot of sense then.