The joy of the few

After dropping off Sarah's oldest daughter at school this morning I was stuck in traffic as mostly Mothers were bringing their children. I was heading out as they were arriving and I found myself staring inside the compact universes of other lives behind windshields.

Most were talking on their cellphones as their sons and daughters were writing texts or playing games on their phones. Others were yelling or animatedly talking to children who either were yelling back or staring straight ahead not listening. The rest were staring off in the distance as they drove, already invested in the things that needed to be done while their kids occupied themselves with getting things ready for school.

I didn't see any of them playing.

No one was laughing.

It stuck me as sad, though I don't know why. Most had drug themselves out of bed, quickly dressed, gobbled down breakfast, were admonished for not moving fast enough lest they be late. The kids would enter another universe at school were the foundations are friends, social interaction peppered with some education. The mothers drove off into their worlds, sullen, pre-occupied and serious.

Turning up the radio and rolling down the window I sang loudly. After days of rain, the sun is shinning, and the marsh grass is a dark brown with hints of green at its roots. Soon it will be an explosion of lush bright greens and the ocean will carry away the dead sprouts from last year.

That which is old will be made new again.

This is my second go-around driving kids to school. A generation ago, I took my kids. I remember singing loudly and laughing often. Perhaps those are just the memories I retain and most mornings I was as sullen and preoccupied as the Moms I watched today. I don't think so.

This time around, things seem more serious. There is more at stake. Uniformed guards are at doors. Teachers double as security and traffic officers. Everything is locked. Dogs patrol hallways.

Times have changed.

Returning to the island, grey clouds cover the sunshine. Police cars lay in waiting behind Oleander bushes. Sullen drivers stare straight ahead into an unfocused distance. The wind picks up.

Turning up the radio, I sing songs from the past and resolve to not allow the unhappiness of the many interfere with the joy of the few.