Jillian Lauren

Until now. I’ve never read a piece of fiction in The New Yorker and thought, That author must have been sitting next to me singing “The Wheels on the Bus” in Mommy and Me class. But I’ll eat my flower hair wreath if Sarah Shun-lien Bynum’s story, “The Erlking” isn’t set at the very same Pasadena Waldorf School Elves’ Faire at which I have many times lamented my lack of ability to felt.

Every sentence of the story resonated with me. It’s about the tragedy contained in those moments of disconnection between parent and child. It made me think of the ways that I’ll never know my son, the ways that the world he’s living in is so different from mine, even as we’re holding hands.

Generally, I have my mommy life and my life in literature and never the twain shall meet. Yes, I mom-blog with the best of ‘em, but when I write (or even read) books, I put on a different hat entirely. Maybe I’m scared to write fiction that deals with issues around motherhood because I’m afraid it won’t be taken seriously. This fear of mine has me pandering to the very sentiment I loathe.

Bynum’s story married art and life in a way that I found both brave and profound. I had my standard jealous reaction when I read something fantastic– I wish I had done it myself.

I know I’m always about two weeks late to comment on anything topical, but that’s about my pace right now. My saintly husband took T on a walk this morning and I actually sat down with my coffee and read the February 15 issue of The New Yorker. “The Promise” moved me to tears and prompted a moment of unpleasant self-examination. I looked at the 1965 photograph of the marchers in Selma, arms locked, and I wondered- would I have been there?

By this I don’t mean to ask if I would have supported The Civil Rights Movement, because on that question I feel I know myself and I know my heart. But rather, would I have taken time out from my demanding life and stood with the marchers? Or would I have said- no, I have an interview with German Cosmo today. I’ve worked so hard for this moment in my career and I just can’t let it slip by. No, I have to take T to Traveltown. No, I have a mountain of paperwork on my desk and 300 emails in my inbox and I just can’t make it, but I’ll buy the t-shirt for the cause and wear it when I shop at Whole Foods.

Every time my family sits down to eat a meal, we’re living the fulfillment of the dream these activists had forty years ago. So what promise can I now make to my son for the betterment of the world in which he’s growing up? And how can I work toward the fulfillment of that promise? Now. Today. With 300 emails in my inbox and a demanding career toward which I’ve worked so hard and a family for which I’ve waited so long. I don’t have the answer. But I’m letting the question be my prayer.