“You just don’t know. You just don’t know.”
That was Sam’s response to the news it was, in fact, Monday and yes, he was going to school.
Sam and I have an established early morning dialog. It begins with Sam’s statement, “No school today Mommy. School tomorrow.” I answer, “Sad but true Sammy you have school and I am going to work.” After a few rounds of protest, Sam acknowledges acceptance of the day’s plan by responding, “Mommy works at the bank. Daddy works at the law office. Sam works at the school.”
Today was different. He was not accepting the plan. He voiced his disapproval by saying again with passion, “You don’t know. You don’t know.” Where did those words come from I wondered? Likely scripted from one video or another, judging from the voice inflections. But his repeated use suggested thought and meaning behind the words.
“You don’t know. You don’t know,” Sam protested again.
He’s right. I don’t know. I can only guess. Would he just prefer to languish in bed or was a bigger problem brewing? As he looked up pleadingly, I knew he wanted – no – expected me to understand.
But I did not understand. I assured Sam he would be fine and helped him get ready and packed him on his way. As I watched the bus leave I was troubled by the passion of his words. I couldn’t get them out of my head.
I sensed something off kilter but what? What was it I didn’t know? The bus ride is too long? Too hard to get back into the swing of things today? Monday morning blues? The pollen? Stomachache? He’d simply rather stay home? Or something else altogether.
How I wish I knew.
