- Damn! look at the ice cream you bought to me, mom.
- What happened, little boy?
- It's melting - showing his clothes
- and now that? Why weren't you more careful, You dumb! - I berated him with all the destructive rage of a stressed mother.
In that exactly moment I saw my son changing his mood passing from calm to his face in despair, feeling the chest of his school uniform smeared with popsicles, dripping down to his fly.
His face was sweating, and his hands were shaking , in a clear demonstration of guilt mixed with horror to see himself breaking the hygienic rules imposed by myself, as I could not stand dirty hands and faces , even worse clothes.
Trying to contain his tears inside him, his face was round, red, oand his lips tightly closed - almost about to break in an explosion, in fear of a logical punishment coming soon,
created and done by me.
I was the monster of that tragic story, written by myself.
What kind of end for that story would I like to write ?
I thought about a happy one because what I have said and done to him, torturing him with that cleaning mania, was absolutely not fair.
Rather than hurry, I took a handkerchief from the wallet I was carrying.
And I started cleaning his uniform.
But stopped right away.
The thing is that he started crying (wait! It wasn't crying. It was a scary tantrum, full of deep feeling, about to stop my heartbeat and his heartbeat too)
And now what do I do? - I thought looking for a popsicle vendor or shop to buy him another popsicle although it was not the real solution for the problem.i have created, because as a matter of fact, I basically wanted to get rid of that crying that took me out of the serious, altering the well functioning of my thoughtsthat at that time became esdrújulo, confused.
I bent down to comfort him.
And he suddenly hugged me.
I think it was at that moment that I realized that it was not just a trick, and that I had really felt that I had lost that popsicl, since he kept his gaze lost in his tears spilled effusively on the fallen face.
Finally, he bent down to pick up the palette, making a gesture of wanting to suck it with his untoothed mouth in frank loss of the milk teeth.
That definitely moved me, because I would never think that my son would be able to feel so deeply about something that one does not normally value and throw it in the garbage can.
It was when I realized that he was canceling his feelings with my reproach.
I was purposely hurting him, wanting to hit him
Without any right.
Wouldn't it be time to give him a hug?
Or, maybe, buy him another palette?
I had some money in my pocket.
It wasn't his birthday, or anything like that.
But I hugged him as I had never done that before : emotionally, sincerely, with all my heart.
He also hugged me, withal the strength he had in his body and soul.
That, was real.
- Tomorrow there is a math exam - the teacher sent a message, which I received and read immediately, because that was the custom that I had settled.
I bent down again.
I grabbed his arms.
And I stared into his eyes, saying firmly:
- There is a math exam tomorrow, and you have to study.
I promise that tomorrow after the exam, we will buy popsicles.
- do you promise, mom?
- Clear! Promise is debt and I like to pay everything I owe it ! - I encouraged him, concluding with a hug.
And we went home, to shower, eat dinner and study, until we fell asleep on our notebooks and exercise books.
The sun woke us up early the next day.
We have a quick breakfast and go to school.
I took him in the car and told him.
- I don't forget about you, honey.
At four I pick you up and we will leave.
Good luck with the exam - and I kissed his forehead goodbye.
I went to work until four in the afternoon, without lunch and often without even answering the phone
The clock on my office wall struck four in the afternoon.
And I flew out of the office without taking extra work home.
- I have a commitment! - In truth, it was not only a commitment to my son, but also with the healthy intention of becoming an attentive mother to her son, rather than the extra work that she took to every day, including Saturdays and Sundays.
That summer afternoon would be a special afternoon.
For simply being the afternoon in which my son should pick up from school to be together and surely go for ice cream because it was very hot.
My son should be four and a half from school.
I looked at the time on my cell phone: I had a half hour free.
- I can go to the gas station, because I had almost no fuel in the car.
- There's a gas station near here - I thought, calculating the time I had left.
After driving the car for four or five blocks, dripping the fat, I was surprised to see that there was a huge line.
I gave him a look at the time, afraid of wasting time.
- I'm going to be late! Better I go to the corner of the school.
And I started thinking about saving time, taking the express route.
Another mistake! Well there was a huge line there too.
- what do I do now? - Glancing at the clock again.
It was late.
- I'd better pick it up for my son and then we'll go to the gas station together - I thought.
My son left school almost at the same moment with a topical childish joy.
- Hello! - I hugged him asking:
- How was the exam? Fine ?
- Very well, I answered all the questions, I think I was the only one in the course to deliver the exam sheet without a single blur.
- very good! - kissing her forehead and massaging her straight brown hair.
- yes! Let's have popsicle!
- Come on son. But first we are going to put gasoline in the car and then have some ice cream.
- we go! - putting his backpack in the back seat of the car.
We toured about eight gas stations, all full.
We looked at each other in total anguish.
He, for wanting to have ice cream.
I, for wanting to give her that palette, in the name of an honest maternal loyalty that I was willing to respect.
- What is it ?, I asked the boy who was attending the gas station.
- Tomorrow is a holiday - the boy answered me, with a light smile for not having to work the next day.
- it's true, mom. Look at your cell phone. The teacher must have sent you a message.
I saw it: it was true. The teacher had sent me a message that I had not checked.
- And all my friends at school are going to travel - commented my son.
And I did not remember that detail.
But yes, I found a kiosk at the end of the gas station, where they sold popsicles.
here it is ! I said, in an associative momentum.
We do not have popsicle in the ice parlor, it is true, because the night was approaching.
finally, we had to buy popsicles at the gas station and we were taking it back home, when the warm night fell between stars and good intentions in my happy-ending story.