Commute

Devin and Dashawn are brothers. Dashawn is older by a year. Devin is in second grade. Dashawn is in third. It is Dashawn's responsibility to get his little brother out of the house and on  the  bus every morning for their trip to school. They are inevitably among the first kids to enter the playground in the morning.
Last week, Dashawn showed up with a worried look on his face. Devin was lagging behind him, limping noticeably. "Devin got hit by a car," announced his brother. This was the kind of news that wasn't met lightly by me or our principal. As we made our way abruptly to the office, we heard the full story in a tag-team fashion.
When the boys left their house, waiting to cross the street to the bus stop, a car slowed coming to the intersection. Stepping out into the street, the car sped up and tagged Devin on the thigh and rolled over his toes on the way past them. Dashawn picked him up and got him across the street. They took the bus as they usually do, and made their way to school.
The principal and I were a little confounded about why they hadn't gone straight back home, but it became apparent that every morning they left their house sometime after their mother went to work. It made sense to Dashawn that it was his job to get his brother to school even if one of them were injured. It was the sense that a third grade big brother could make under extraordinary circumstances. We took a moment to inspect the abrasion and the burgeoning bruise.
There was a moment of reckoning before we got on the phone and called their mother. After we explained the big picture, we put Devin on. We couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but Devin's went something like this: "Yes ma'am. No ma'am. Yes ma'am. I'm not sure ma'am." Then he passed the phone to his brother. Dashawn's interaction with his mother followed a very similar vein. Then the phone was returned to our principal, who made arrangements for the boys to be picked up as soon as possible.
Later in the day, I asked our principal how the boys were. She told me that they had been picked up not long after the day began for everyone else, but their mother's reaction was not what we might have anticipated. She began screeching at her boys in the office, and continued as she led them out onto the steps outside. The nature of her screeching centered on their carelessness and in particular Dashawn's insistence that they continue on to school. She called him stupid.
At first, this story broke my heart. I couldn't imagine that this tale of brotherly love and concern would end that way. Then I reflected on the mother's story. How she must have felt, getting that call first thing in the morning. Your son has been hit by a car. Fear and disbelief. Worry that she would be in trouble with her boss for having to leave. How would she be able to afford any medical care? Why was this happening now?
Which is right about the time I forgave her.
The boys were back in school the next day. Devin had a protective boot on his foot, and Dashawn had stories about how nice everyone was in the hospital. They got to watch a movie while they waited for the X-rays. I didn't ask if they had taken the bus to school.
I knew.