No Concert For You

Saturday. So much to do - shopping, laundry, cleaning. In the back of my mind, I was toying with the idea of going to hear the RPO. A young this year's winner Van Cliburn pianist named Haochen Zhang was being featured. Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto #1. Sounded wonderful. I would really like to go if I have the energy.

I began with shopping. I had taken money from my Christmas account to begin my Christmas shopping. What a marvelous time I had finding the items on my list. All year long, everytime someone said, "I really like that!" or "Isn't that beautiful!" I wrote it down on my list. Now, instead of tearing my hair out trying to think what will make someone happy, all I have to do is find things!

How tiring it is to walk around in a department store sleuthing out just the right size, color, style, version. Even with a list, I must have walked through the same department a million times. Weary, I climb back into the car with my prize packages, and head for the nearest fast food place to quench my parched throat. Half the day spent, and I have only accomplished one small task for the day. And really, not even that since I had not yet shopped for groceries.

Drew's friend calls and wants him to come visit. He asks if I can drive him there, and they would bring him back. I sigh. I know if I do this, there will be no energy left. No cleaning. No laundry. Just being home and resting. And certainly no concert.

It doesn't take much contemplation. I look in his eyes. I see the buoyancy of youth, the bright hope, the joy that will be his. I know the importance of friends. Friends take time. I know this is a gift I will give him. He will not know. But that's OK. As we drive to Webster, the sun is shining. Drew chatters away happily, sharing bits and pieces of himself unreservedly. It is his gift to me. He may not know, but I do.

We find the house, and he bounces out of the car, grabbing his back pack and waving to his friend. Then he turns back and leans in the passenger side car window. He looks me straight in the eyes and says, with great meaning, "Thanks, Mom." He does know. I smile and wave him off. It has been a good day. The laundry will wait.