I help him step out of the truck, curbside at the front door
of his middle school building, among the crowd of students waiting for the
doors to open. The usual greeting of the
teacher or classroom aide who I hand him off to is not yet present. It’s the day after a holiday and we have
arrived earlier than usual. I don’t
wait. As my 14 year old steps onto the
sidewalk he turns and I help him put on his backpack. I look one more time as the early crowd files
in, take a solid breath, and ask him, “Do you remember where your classroom is?” He points toward the door. I say to him, “Alright, then go there. Have a good day.” Off he lurches toward the
door in his Corban style of walk. I walk
back around to the driver’s side but I don’t jump into the cab just yet. I pause with one hand on the door and watch
my son with cerebral palsy disappear around the corner of the entrance leading into
the front door. He goes boldly. I wait for just a little longer then I get
into the truck and slowly drive away. My
eyes glance into the mirror to see behind me, looking for him in case he
decided to bolt back out of the school.
Then I go boldly. The fear that
wants to grip my heart tightly, loosens as I pry its fingers away and steel myself
to the truth that I cannot always guide his every step. Some days it seems easy to go boldly; some
days, not so much.
Today…you go boldly.
