I remember the first time I heard the “Cats in the Cradle” song. At the end I thought, “That’s gonna be you someday, Mom. The second half of the song. Where the son doesn't have time for the father 'cause the father never had time for the son.”
See, my mom hasn’t figured it out yet, but she’s reaping what she sowed. As far back as I can remember, she was pushing me out of the nest.
“Here’s how you braid your hair. Now you can do it yourself every morning.” “This is the way you do laundry. Now you can do your own every Saturday.”
What was I, six? Seven?
When I graduated college, she said, “Go out and make something of yourself, and take these boxes with you.”
You got what you wanted, Mom. You made me in-de-pen-dent, like the dentist elf in the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Christmas special.
Funny how time changes things. Now that you’re all alone, you want me back. As much as possible. I visit every two weeks, but you say it’s not enough. You think my family’s too busy, but I think you don’t remember what it’s like to have one. You want what I can’t give—more of me. I want what you won’t give—an apology.
I’ve got good news for you, Mom. It just occurred to me that someday I’m gonna reap what I sow. That’s why I’ve decided I’m gonna try a little bit harder to give you a little bit more. Of me.
