The Drive Back Home from School with Mom

Having two other older children as practice,
My mother already understands that me, currently in the backseat,
Who shyly climbed into the family minivan and let loose
The loudest of sighs, indicating without words,
That I am not in the mood to talk at this moment.
She has no favorites and loves each child no more than the other,
But love comes in different forms and shades, and she does love
          differently.
For one child, she’s a therapist, reflecting in dialogue
Complex issues that may not have an easy answer, but simple ones.
For another, she’s a hype man, building up confidence in a child
Whose self-esteem swings back and forth in the form of a preteen
          pendulum.
For me, who she has known my entire existence,
I will never disclose if there was a problem at school or with a girl,
Or if I had a bad practice. She just understands that all I would like
Is to sit in silence for the twenty-minute ride back to the house.
I look out the window as late September sunlight surges into
          darkness,
Seeing other drivers, who look back at me with stern faces,
As if they’re telling, don’t look at me unless you’ll remember me.
I just close my eyes in the back seat and let out an afternoon yawn.
I finally spoke up and asked if she could change the station
To my favorite sports radio show,
And she obliges, despite her disdain
For meathead shock jocks talking about overpaid jocks,
Because that is the best way she can display her form of love to me
          right now.