The Bookstore

I’m sitting in the bookstore with my son. He has his head in a book. I am dicking around on my phone. I figure he’s occupied, so why not jot some words down. With fingers on screen, not pen on paper. Two people who love each other so much. Ignoring each other. We’re out for quality time. I’m sure people are judging. Look at that mother on her phone.

If I was writing with paper and pen, would it be better? Such a well-rounded pair. The mom is obviously a writer, her son a voracious reader. Such a good mother. I bet he doesn’t watch TV. They must have a library at home.

Or maybe we’re still not good enough? I am not good enough. And he is poor, poor boy. Regardless I am on my phone, so I am bad. When in fact it is the same as un livre et une plume. We never know what people, mothers, are doing on their phones. Yes. Perhaps most are idly wasting their time away. Or… Perhaps texting a sibling, who’s far away. Perhaps emailing a lawyer to ask for help. Looking at photos of a loved one just passed. Searching for used clothes because she can’t afford new. Researching an illness she’s just found she has. Planning a birthday for that very child.

I love my son. I love him so much. I debated asking him to put the book away. Allow us to talk. But I want him to enjoy his day. We talked and sang in the car ride here. Is that okay judger? Do I get a pass? Or do I still not meet your approval? I have not met your bar? I’m sorry for nothing.

From mother and son.