Where Is Your Boy?

Quite some time ago (too lazy to look it up or link it here) I wrote a piece called "Do you have a little son?" It was about a small boy who rang our doorbell asking if we had a "little son" he could play with. Some things are unexpected and yet so knife-twisting all at the same time.

During a school field trip last week, we took our students to a popular park. While everyone started eating their sack lunches near the grassy area, I headed for the playground equipment to sit on a bench and begin my lunch, knowing that the typical fifth grader would arrive about thirty seconds later. I would be watching for food (can't take it into the play area, no trash, no choking) and stay nearby in case there was a problem (bee sting, getting stuck in the baby swing, etc.). So I had just benched myself when an astute mother decided to lead her little boy back to the car after realizing several vehicles of the big yellow school bus variety were arriving in rapid succession. He was probably three years old. I swear, he only glanced at me for a brief second, but he immediately noticed something wrong with the picture and asked, "Where is your boy?" I just smiled and said, "I don't have a boy."

And so it goes.

Tonight I was asked to teach the eleven year old scouts about the Constitution. Shortly before I began, one of the eight boys asked, "Whose mom are you?" So I explained, "I'm nobody's mom."

Do you have a little son? Where is your boy? Whose mom are you?

It will always sting.