The lesson from a pair of school shoes

My son has been going to school wearing slightly torn shoes for the past 3 days. He was initially upset about it but knows that he has no other option but to grit his teeth and continue to wear it.

I am a forced-single working mother…my husband works in a different state and hasn’t been living with us for the past two years.

‘Ah’. One syllable, but loaded with all the collective angst of self-righteous stay-at-home mothers against women like me who make careers their lives. I can feel their collective wrath descend on me as they hasten headlong to judge my poor mothering  - “Tch, tch, so busy in pursuing a career that she can’t even buy a pair of shoes for her son. The poor mite is wearing torn shoes and going to school. And such an elite school too. For shame!” And then they look on smugly at the well-shod feet of their own children.

Alright, pat observation, pat judgment.

Let’s now hear the full story.

Two weeks ago, the apple of my eye – the only apple actually – went and lost his fairly new school shoes. Again. He reported the loss to me only after a couple of days had gone by, having kept my probing at bay by blithely informing me that he had to wear his sports shoes for two days. Naturally, this fact could not remain hidden for long and soon I discovered the carefully concealed truth. My kiddo had been playing soccer around school closing time and had made a mad scramble for his school bus when it was almost time for it to pull out of the long, sweeping school drive. In his haste, he had completely forgotten to pick up his cloth bag in which he had stuffed his school shoes as well as his I-Card.  

Only when he got home did he realize, to his dismay, the loss and his first thought was how to keep that fact from me for as long as he could.

Naturally, when I came to know about his carelessness, I did go up in smoke but decided that such frequent carelessness could not be tossed aside with just another long lecture. He was probably expecting that and few more remonstrations and finally, a brand new pair of shoes would sooner or later be given to him. However, this time I employed a different strategy. No new shoes would be bought and Surjo would have to simply wear his old torn shoes and go to school for the rest of the winter term. And, if any teacher hauled him up, he was to tell them to speak to me.

Surjo realized that I meant business and meekly obeyed me without his usual arguments.

Of course, kids being kids, he is cheerfully going to school wearing his old shoes, now no longer encumbered with the guilt of having lost something or the even bigger guilt of having to hide something from me.  I, on the other hand, am squirming inwardly and I know it’s only a matter of time before I capitulate to my maternal instinct and buy him a new pair of shoes.

But I think I have gone about it the right way in making him be more responsible for his belongings and understanding the value of money. And, yes, I am waiting for the term to get over soon!