One Moment

This week my son graduated from 8th grade. In many parts of the world this might not be a big deal, but our community is adoringly focused on celebrating our kids’ milestones. Not only do we love our kids, but we can’t help but dote. As a matter of fact, I would argue our high school graduation parties tend to rival weddings. Not that I don't feed right into this. Certainly the love we shower among the village kids will create good juju when sending them off into the world. It’s all very good energy. 

Unless, maybe, it isn’t.

My son had already gone off with friends as hubby and I left the 8^th grade graduation reception. My feelings of pride and joy quickly dissipated when I noticed a lone 8^th grader sitting on the bench, waiting for the bus. He was politely sifting through his folder of accomplishments. He wasn’t dressed up as many were that day, wearing the typical uniform of a 14-year-old boy: sweatshirt and jeans. My first assumption was that his parents couldn’t make it—understandable since the event took place at 1:30 in the afternoon on a Monday. But the thought of a boy not having anyone there to support him or give him a hug made me instantly and utterly sad. The auditorium, you see, had been flooded with parents, grandparents, siblings, and friends.

So what did I do?

Nothing. I did not walk over to wish congratulations.  I didn't shout out good luck in high school. I didn't even tell him to have a nice summer. What prevented me from reaching out with a gesture of kindness? I’m not sure, except perhaps I didn’t want to seem creepy. But I have relived it, over and over in my head.

The point of this blog is perhaps a confession for my lack of action. And perhaps it’s a call to be on guard. If you have a chance to perform any small act of good will, don’t hesitate. The kid might have been perfectly content and ready to celebrate with his family and other friends that night. But he might’ve been lonely and feeling isolated. The next time I jump in my time traveler, I’ll offer him warm wishes. In the meantime, I’ll continue to pray for him–and for all people to show more love. 

Peace. 

Congrats to Cole–and every single kid to cross the stage. Any stage. 

No More Tears?

My typical maudlin pose had gone on sabbatical.

"Seriously? You didn't cry at Alex's 8th grade graduation?" my friend asked me.

I was a bit baffled by the experience of not crying a watershed of tears myself. I mean, my eldest enters high school next year. And I'm the girl who cries over dead opossums on the side of the road...literally. So, what was with this new, dispassionate me? Has my Germanic-stoic of a husband rubbed off more than I had realized? At first I wondered. But then I analyzed the situation. There was simply too much to worry about during the graduation ceremony for me to cry. My concerns:

1. Would Alex be recognized for her academic excellence?
2. Could she perform her guitar for the choir without any major discord?
3. Lastly, would she be able to walk across the stage in those heels?

As it turned out, my prayers were answered. I'm extremely proud to report that she marched across that stage without falling on her face. And she was quite lovely.

Last night our family sat around the campfire and listened to Alex play her guitar.  My heart swelled. Tears assembled on the rims of my eyes. It was nice to feel my old sappy, self back again.

Alex and her Best Buds' Heels

Alex and her cousins, Mikayla and Mitch!