He rushes out the door for a week at college film camp and suddenly I feel as if the whistle has blown and the final quarter of the game has begun. I stretch my hands towards the invisible clock, trying in vain to slow it down. A lump rises in my throat and tears haze my vision as I wash the day’s dishes that only serve to remind me of the memories we made today. I’ve had nearly 18 years of crazy moments with this man child of mine, and yet I find myself wishing for more.
This child, born in Bangladesh, who was once the lone white face in a sea of Bangladeshis, is still comfortable, actually thrives in diverse environments.
This child who threw his toys out of our apartment window now throws himself into seeking justice for the oppressed.
At one time, more comfortable in a rickshaw than a minivan, he now bikes to work on hot summer days, saving money for a good video camera some day.
This child who pushed every boundary until I was exhausted and in tears has just been honored for the 5th year in a row for being the Most Outstanding Male in his class.
When did he change from being more than I could handle to more than I could have dreamt? It’s just a week at film camp, but my heart knows it’s the beginning of the end.
He’s grown his wings. They are strong and his heart is brave and kind. He will be more okay without me than I will be without him…and that’s okay. It makes me feel like I’ve done my job. I’ll always be cheering on the sidelines with food and water and a heart that never stops loving and believing.
I’ll always be his soccer mom, screaming as he nears the goal and steps into who he was made to be.