This evening, we went for a tractor ride around a farm near where we live. It was the three of us, a man, a woman and the driver (the husband of the woman in the back with us). We had a lovely tour of the farm, but the whole time I could tell they were trying to figure us out. S told M to go sit by Mama and I told him to wave to Ima. We asked all sorts of questions about them on the twenty-minute tour yet they didn’t ask us a single one other than M’s age.
Halfway through the ride, the drive stopped and asked M if he wanted to ride with him on the tractor. He did and loved it. Buckled in, he bounced all around and hung on for dear life. At the end of the ride, I walked over to the tractor to collect M and the driver said to M,”Here is…um…someone you know.”
Fascinating. And accurate. My son does know me. What went through my head was that all of these people were judging us. They couldn’t figure out how the three of us fit. They didn’t see that we are cogs from the same wheel. They didn’t see us as a family.
The reality may have been that the driver and the other people in the trailer with us didn’t even think twice about our family. The reality may have been that the drive stumbled over his words because he is in his seventies and was handing me a heavy toddler from above. The reality may be different from my reality.
Obviously, I can’t get into someone else’s head to know what they are thinking. Sometimes, I would just really like to get out of mine.