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The Graduate

I suppose there has to be a day.

A day when it suddenly matters which restroom we use.

A day when my son huddles with hunched shoulders against my left side and refuses to find a stall. A day when he surveys instead the clientele at the sinks and asks with red cheeks, “is this the women’s?”

A day when I nod that it is and watch as he walks wordlessly from my side to find the door.

The right door.

The door to boyhood.  And independence.

The door that mommy opens and waits near but does not enter.

 

Today was our day.

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One Response to “The Graduate”

  1. So well said as only you can do, Jeanne. It is just the beginning but nevertheless “The Beginning”. You touched my heart with memories — not just a cute bathroom story.

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