War Games

 A mother’s work is never done. Parenting “adult” children can prove to be more challenging than the “terrible two’s.”  We live in a different time now. Every generation says so. But ours, at fifty, includes two wars, an unprecedented economic crisis and our college-age “children” facing an uncertain future. So it made complete sense that the army recruiter’s offer of a clear path to the future with promises of “seeing no action” and a “signing bonus” would tempt my best friend's boy-man son of eighteen. A future that would strike terror into any mother’s heart, regardless of political bent or patriotic leanings. As it did in the heart of my best friend. And so as she prepared for the recruiter’s visit, she swept the floor, stifling tears of rage and fear as women have done for generations, burying their heartache in housework. And she dug through pictures of her son’s life carefully framing them.  Little League, first day of school, graduation, the high school prom – photographs of the milestones in a young life. “They’re coming with their ammunition,” she told her son as he took in the shrine on the dining room table.  “This is mine. I want them to see what they are taking from me.” She probed his reasoning. Pouring over the four-color recruitment brochure she asked him to tell her what in the list jobs he was interested in. He couldn’t say. She asked him to name three other things he’d like to do with his life right now other than join the army. “Use your imagination,” she urged.  He couldn’t say. 

“Not knowing what you want to do is no reason to join the army.” She said. “No one knows what they want to do at eighteen.”

“At least finish your education," she argued. "At least then you would enter as an officer. Then, I would support your decision. But not like this. Not now. This isn’t child’s play.”

She didn’t know whether her words had made any difference. With the awkward tenderness of a boy of eighteen, he told her how much it meant to him that she cared so much. He was visibly moved by his mother’s plea.  He canceled the recruiter’s visit.

I sat, listening to my friend’s story, my heart bursting with pain and pride. Mothers still weep while generations of children go off to war. Somebody has to do it, it’s true. But no one can blame a mother for trying to save her child’s life.  With the Herculean strength of a desperate mother lifting a car off of her baby, my friend showed her son that a mother's love knows no bounds.

ALB 7/7/09