The Carpool Blues

I get up early in the mornin’, round about six-o-clock. Bleary-eyed and yawnin’, I gather up the flock. Pack three chillins in the van, and drive around the block. At the neighbor’s crib, two more are added to my stock.

Coffee cup in hand, I head for open road. My minivan creaks under such a heavy load. Been doin’ this so long, I fear I might explode. Can’t blame nobody, for seeds that I have sowed.

Put my kids in magnet schools, fancy and elite. Top-notch educations, teachers can’t be beat. Academic level so high, no one can compete. Then why, one might ask, am I so downbeat?

Soon after enrollment, much to my surprise, the County pulled a bait and switch, before my very eyes. “We ain’t got no money!” one could hear them cry. They told us, “Suck it up — learn to improvise.”

Though our magnet schools were distant in location, the County in its wisdom, canceled transportation. No yellow school buses from the Board of Education. Parents formed carpools, to cope with their frustration.

So here I sit every morning, radio a-blarin’. In my rear view mirror, I see the kids a-starin’. The price of gas and traffic jams, has tempers a-flarin’. Bite my tongue so young ears won’t hear me a-swearin’.

The drive to school each mornin’, is pretty much the same. It starts out kinda quiet, not enough sleep to blame. Getting up so early each day seems a crying shame. Without a break on weekends, I might just go insane.

Where to tune the radio dial, no one can agree. The girls like the latest hits on Radio Disney. The boys think pop music is so bourgeoisie. They prefer the screeching sounds of alternative rock melodies.

My oldest son doesn’t chime in, because he’s fast asleep. In five months of car-pooling, he’s hardly uttered a peep. With eyes closed and head back, he might be counting sheep. Into his open mouth, a bug or two might leap.

After twenty miles, and at least a dozen red lights, we arrive at the school, the sun now burning bright. I bid them all adieu, as they scramble from my sight. And breathe a sigh of relief — we made it to school all right.

The “Slam!” of the van’s door, heralds the end of child domination. Reaching for the dashboard knobs, I switch the radio station. I tune in the news to distract me from my degradation. Sipping the dregs of tepid coffee, I grope for relaxation.

In thirty minutes, I am home, and go about my day. Sweep the floors, walk the dog, what’s for dinner today? In no time flat it seems, the hours have slipped away. Must pick the kids up from school, there’s no time for delay.

Back in the van and on the road, negative thoughts pervade. Am I just a chauffeur who never will get paid? The rest of the day, am I just a lowly scullery maid? I distract myself with news again, to avoid a violent tirade.

Like tiny escaped prisoners, the kids burst out of school. In the van I hear their chatter about who is super cool. I ask about their homework, and if they’ve learned the Golden Rule. But soon they are too tired to speak, and they begin to drool.

Pulling in the driveway, they look like walking dead. Zombies stumble from my van, toward the humble homestead. They wander in search of snacks, and a place to lay their heads. After homework, activities, dinner and play, it’s time to go to bed.

Five months down, five more to go, not sure if I can make it. I worry that I’ll lose my mind if I’m forced to take it. But these kids are mine, it’s a fact, and nothing will forsake it. And so I must continue on, even if I fake it.

I’ll avoid the pitfalls of despair, like gambling and booze. I’ll try to remember that parenting is something that we choose. I’ll face the fact that, sometimes in life, one must pay the dues. And suffer the trials and tribulations of The Carpool Blues.