My Three Sons

     I have a photo of Jesse and his two best friends sitting on the swing on my front porch.  I think they are four years old. All three fit together on one seat.  They are happy, adorable little boys.  Their perfect baby teeth, like little white Chicklets, smile at me.
     This morning they are in my car, on my very last day of driving carpool to high school. They are an aromatic group--they smell of Axe body spray, peanut butter toast and gym shoes.  Graduation is this weekend.
     I love these  boys, and they know I love them, so I decide to say what's on my mind.  My voice will crack but it doesn't matter, because although they would never think of it, I think they love me too.
     "Today is my last day of driving carpool," I begin.  "My last day ever."
     My voice cracks a little on the "ever," and my son Jesse, sitting in the passenger seat beside me, looks right at me.
     "Are you going to cry?  Jesus, Mom."
     But it's just S and J in the car, boys I've known since they were toddlers.  They live on our block, and I think I've seen them most of the days of their lives.
     It's too late to be embarrassed in front of them.  These boys have seen me in my sweaty gym clothes at 7:00 in the morning, and in my red fluffy bathrobe at midnight.  I've picked them up at school when they were sick, and I've put many bandages on their knees and elbows. They know exactly what I have in my refrigerator, and probably these days what I have in my liquor cabinet.  If I'm going to cry, it's going to be okay.
     S, always a sweetheart, says, "We should have done something special!"
     The boys laugh.
     "It is special," I venture, my voice cracking now.  "It's special to be driving the three of you.  I've known you since. . ." I trail off.  I realize I can't say anymore.
     My son can see how emotional I am, and he speaks quietly to me.
     "Oh Mom," says Jesse.
     And then, without a pause, "Oh Mom," says S.
     And then, "Oh Mom!" says J.