Seven Weeks

I want so much for him to just be a happy kid. I want him to come home with a grin on his face, excited about the life he's about to leap into. I want him to relax and not stress out so much.

He came home tonight, though, telling me that the Senior Farewell - a formal ceremony held during the school day that the kids look forward to all year - had been cancelled. He's disappointed. Then, we confirm that graduation is Saturday. But he's not sure if he's going, "becaue no one's going to be there for me anyway."

"I'll be there for you."

He doesn't respond at first. Then, says, "Thanks. Mr. _________" After a couple more moments, he gets up, paces, and says he needs to go for a walk. Or a drive. To clear his head. I ask him if he's alright, he laughs a sad laugh, says he's fine, and then he leaves.

There's nothing wrong with taking a drive at midnight. I've been known to do it. But I wish he was happier. I wish I saw him have some fun sometimes. He's so serious, so methodical, and he's carrying around something that I don't think most people carry. Just this Saturday, he had to attend the funeral of a cousin shot and killed. This has happened to so many people in his extended family that I know he knows he's got to get out of this city as soon as he possibly can. He wants to leave Baltimore and not come back, and I can't say I blame him much. But I need to help ferry him safely there until July 17th, the date he moves in on campus down there.

I worry about him. He's off to college in seven weeks.