These kids, they love with their eyes. They speak with their eyes. Innocent, grey, blue, brown and black eyes. Always wide open. Always seeking to grasp it all. Always twinkling with joy. I look at them and lose myself in those eyes. I also lose myself in their stories. They tell me their stories with so much focus. All they ask me for is to listen to them. Smile at them. And sometimes just hug them.
These aren’t my kids. Just one amongst them is mine. But I love them all. So easily. Is it wrong that I don’t need more of them to be mine? Is there something wrong in me that I can love each of them without any bias. I don’t care if they are Chinese or American or Russian or Iranian or Israeli. I don’t see their color or their race.
I’ve been dropping off and picking up Tara every day this week. And the highlight of my day is spending 20 minutes with her friends at the end of my day. We laugh together. We play together. I’ve had some success in making the shy ones speak up and the chatter boxes listen. And I’ve also had some success in disconnecting from work in those 20 minutes. It’s bliss.
As we choose the right school for Tara, I am so worried if she will ever find such wonderful diverse set of friends again. Does it make me a bad mother if I say that I don’t care if she goes to Ivy League school, but I care that she learns to love everyone irrespective of who they are. Do these two have to be mutually exclusive?
I don’t know what’s the right answer. But for now all my woes of being a single mom this week while Agam is traveling for work, melt away when I go pick her up from school. Her friend deserve the credit. For letting me love them, hug them and play with them, just as if they were my own.