In my sons eyes...

Looking back, it is no wonder that it became a rather stressful day.

In an act of either great trust or laziness, I had accepted my son's assertion that yes, he knew where today's chess tournament was to be held -- in the building right next to the Radnor Elementary School.

If one takes that to mean about a mile and a half from the new building on Louella, Mr. C was absolutely right.

The school where the Silver Knights had the competition isn't that easy to find. So we circled the lovely snowy streets of Wayne for about a half an hour, both of us growing more upset -- and he forfeited his first game.

Although I did find my way up to the gym for an hour to rid myself of the excess energy, the day felt oddly disorienting, partly because once familiar landmarks were covered with white. It was evidently that way for my son, who won a game and lost two.

On the way home, Mr. C cried a little, complaining that the light from the sun was bothering him. I think, from what I can tell, that the kid, who struggles with stomach and headaches, was having a migraine attack.

When we finally got back home he lay on my bed and tearfully asked me: why don't I do more for others? Why do I care only for myself?

Where did he come up with that? If you could only hear what others say about you, I said to my twelve-year-old. Teachers comment on what a kind person he is -- dunno where that comes from either, but I'm glad that he is an empathetic kid.

I wish I could, he said to me. Maybe I'd change.

Your job right now is to grow up and do the best you can in school, and help others when you can. There will be plenty of chances later on.

Looking into those sad blue eyes, so like mine, I wondered with some distress if I had somehow made him feel that he was self-absorbed, or uncaring. Or had he just inherited the family guilt -- never enough, never enough, always more to do to save the world.

He is a bit of an old soul, Mr. C. But there is still so much he has to learn. And when the questions get too huge, I hope he comes to me, to his father for the truth -- that he is loved, and loving.

After a while, he fell asleep. He even laughed a little bit tonight. And I was left to wonder at how, despite all that we do to create other universes in which our children can wander, they still find their way back to territory we often recall...and wish we could keep our kids from entering.

This morning, things are back to normal. He has shed the burdens of the cosmos, and is pondering a more immediate terror...that of having his hair, which currently acts like an insulation system for his ears, cut.

Trumpet in one hand, juggling balls in the other, he has stepped back into the present -- when the idealism surfaces again, I'll try to have a practical suggestion instead of a rush of motherly concern.

Even old souls need hobbies.