This Is Another “Dear Mom…” Letter
This is another “Dear Mom in the restaurant line in front of me last night…” letter.
And I hate those.
But if I could have spoken to you, if you would have looked me in the eye, I would have said this.
I saw your little guys with you. I saw that they were restless as the witching hour started to rear its ugly head for all of us. I saw that the noises and lights and action surrounding them was a lot. It was a lot for me, too. I saw that you were anxiously hoping that the line for take out orders would move a little faster. Why does that place never move a little faster?? I saw that you were keeping your eyes fixed on them, maybe too tired or nervous or anxious to look up. I saw him doing his very best to get comfortable. He rocked back and forth and back and forth and back and forth on his heels and toes. He pivoted his arms up and down, up and down, up and down. And he shook his head over and over in a habitual twitch, trying to find a sense of calm and security not only for himself, but for you as well. He did his very best. I saw his little brother pawing at you, making special request after special request as little brothers do at this time of day, demanding more of your attention than you probably had to give. I saw you move your gaze back to him, willing him to feel safe and secure with your eyes. Willing everyone bumping and pushing past you in line to give him a little more space. Willing that damn line to hurry up already.
You didn’t look my way, but I saw you. And had you looked my way, I would have smiled. I would have given you a look that said how amazing you are as a mom. I would have hugged you and your boys with my eyes. I would have told you that I hate the witching hour too and that this place is always way too crazy and that people really should be more considerate in line. I would have let you know that your boy was beautiful. That he put a smile on my face. In that moment, to this complete stranger, he was perfect.
If you would have looked my way, I would have smiled. But you didn’t. You walked out ahead of me, staring at the ground, pulling your boys behind you, pizza boxes stacked high in one arm.
You walked ahead of me. But you left a little bit behind. You sparked another one of these letters.
And I thank you for that.