The school bus stopped outside the gate. My little 5 year
old friend S got out. I watched from my kitchen window as he skipped along
holding his mother’s hand. His red school bag bouncing a little. Suddenly, to
his mother’s obvious discomfort and agitation, he veered toward my window and
looked up. I smiled and waved at them. We made some ordinary conversation about
children and the unfairness of having school on a Saturday that steals away a
child’s play hours.
S had been looking at me purposefully. I knew what was
coming. “Aunty,” his voice floated up. “Come for tea,” he commanded. With S, it
was never a request or a question. It was always a command stemming from the
right he knew he had over me. My voice suddenly constricted, at a loss for
words. “I am busy darling,” I faltered out a response. “Liar,” said my inner
voice. S ignored my response and with all the confidence and love of a child
said, “Come with your phone, ok.” The innocence and demand of this 5 year old
brought unbidden tears to my eyes. I desperately hoped no one would notice. And
smiled a little at mother and son. Not hearing a positive response from me, he
looked away. With the resilience of a child, he waved back and moved into the
building with his mother.
I was reminded of all the times he had spent rolling on
the red bean bag in my living room or just sitting on the corner of my bed, his
spot. Engrossed as only a child can be in an iPad game. An occasional demand
for milk in his favorite red cup would float up. “Come up and drink your milk,”
I would say. “You bring it down,” would come the response.
My workstation... I have kept your word. :)
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