I drove down the road after dropping Boo off.
Busy busy as always, but especially so today as it was a 70 kilometre round trip TWICE in the space of five hours.
And I had to fit in going into the office and a quick grocery shop and the traffic was moving so. freaking. slow.
I was muttering to myself how much I despise the town that the school is located and pretty much resenting everyone and everything in existence.
I turned the corner, driving down the long wide road that would take me to the highway and away from this god forsaken hell hole of a town, that given the option I would only ever pass – middle finger extended – on my way to the city.
I stopped mid mutter at the lights as I saw a man, HUGE smile on his face gesturing wildly to no one in particular.
He was dressed in a fashion reminiscent of Michael Jackson post black man but before his nose collapsed on itself – long white shirt, black jeans.
The shirt clean and crisp.
Like his smile.
I found myself smiling back. Breathing in the joy I was witnessing through the dirty windows of my car.
Pure. Unadulterated. Happiness.
Not a care. Childlike innocence.
Just walking down the street, happy.
And it made me think of my boy, my boy I just dropped off at that specialist school.
My boy. So happy most of the time.
And the times when he is not, are usually when we make him conform to what WE think is acceptable behaviour.
Behaviour that does not include dressing as an eighties icon and walking down the street laughing happily to the tune in your own head.
As I rounded the bend to enter the highway I glanced in my rear view mirror and saw him again.
He twirled around, arms above his head and continued to dance down the street.
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