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Boys To Men--The Graduation
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Boys To Men--The Graduation |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738
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"You don't have to come." My son looked at me through a wild shock of brown mane that always grows too fast and never will be tame. His dark eyes were intense, but not cold and hard. "We're just going to get our diplomas and sing some dumb song by "Boys To Men." "'Boys To Men?' YOU will be singing a 'Boys To Men' song?" My eyes were full of mischief. "Well you KNOW then, I wouldn't miss that for the world!" "You are an evil woman." He replied, but he was smiling. "Well, think of it this way," I offered in mock sympathy, "It could be worse. It could be something by Barry Manilow." "Arrrggggghhhh...thanks mom, you are always such a comfort to me." "It's more than my job, son. It's my pleasure!" I laughed then, but almost gasped as I realized he now had to lean down to kiss me goodbye. "Boys To Men," I thought, "how appropriate." It was a long walk to the grade school, and I was running late. If I chose to walk the sidewalk, like a dignified "grown-up", I would miss the ceremony. Our street winds in a circle, which would add two miles and at least half an hour to my trek. So, I did what I had to do. Glancing around to see if I had an audience, I gathered my dress up around my waist, and hopped the backyard fence, my purse around my neck, and my sandals in my hand. I knew the trails through the woods from picking blackberries with the kids. I entered the damp coolness of woods with my shoes still in my hand. I wanted to walk the path quietly, so I could hear. If "trouble" was ahead, I wanted to be able to retreat unheard. There had been some instances of a local gang hanging out there, but I gambled on the fact that it was early, thinking I was more likely to run into a gator than a criminal as I followed the winding path by the pond. I preferred an alligator. It was an easy walk however, and I made good time. I did not meet the startled eyes of the other parents parking their cars, as they saw me exit the wood near the school. I stopped to brush my hair, and wipe the dust from my feet before I put my shoes on. I checked my face in my compact, and with exaggerated dignity, I joined the procession of relatives filling the small cafeteria. Oh WELL. I shrugged. I made it, didn't I? I took a program from beside the door and made my way to the only available seating, way in the back, thinking, "He'll never see me back here." I sat and waited, getting lost in a revery of memory as I did. I remembered all of the challenges we had faced together, and my fear when I first registered him for Kindergarten realizing I had to trust his safety to someone else. I smiled remembering the first time they had called his name aloud in that cafeteria. He stood so bravely to go to his assigned teacher, pulling a "wedgie" from his behind as he did. He was so tiny then, but still so much more fearless than I. I remembered all of his trials in domino-layered recall. He once protested when I kissed him goodbye at the bus stop, so? I made a signal. I would squeeze his shoulder when other kids were around, and that meant--"I love you." I remembered his triumphs, and how his grandfathers beamed with pride as they sat beside me on those little tiny benches, just like I was perched this day, and the tears began before the ceremony even started. They would have been so proud. Then a calm took me, and I realized I could feel their presence. I collected myself just as the principal approached the podium. To my surprise, the principal announced that the procession would begin from the back doors. I turned and whipped my head around, to see my son, grinning shyly. He had seen me all along. He looked so handsome, but shot me a warning look as he watched me start to bawl again. So I cleared my throat, and sighed. I would behave myself. The ceremony went as such ceremonies do. The relatives of each graduate whooping and cheering in pride. When they called my son's name, I applauded my hands ruby red. People turned to look at me, and I was puzzled, then I realized--I was the only one clapping. I had come alone. I didn't care. I continued my lone clapping, and as the others realized, they joined me. I was on my feet then, and the tears found their own path down my face. I watched my not so little man shake hands with the administrators, and then he took his place. He met my eyes, and shut his, shaking his head. But he was smiling. Then finally, they all stood together, the graduating class, and began to sing. My son looked mortified, then relieved as the song came to a close and they began the procession, out, the same way they came in. I watched him walk toward me, admonishing myself as I did. Don't embarrass him now. But he stopped by my seat and handed me his diploma, and the honor medal he had received and said, "I'll see ya later mom." Then he squeezed my shoulder and went to join his friends. [This message has been edited by serenity (05-29-2002 04:29 AM).] |
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| © Copyright 2002 serenity blaze - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
with each step they take...Moms grow up too. love ya for this KA... *wish you could see the smile this gave me*   I remembering being one and the same ... |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
You know... this makes me want to pull on my ear lobe... but then, you know... |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
Ah....I was there....in another cafeteria, another time. The same mother's tears and pride. Three graduations - 8th grade - high school - college....everyone was a blessing. Thank you for such a wonderful slice of your life - made me think.  |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
Y'know? I didn't have a camera... so THIS--will have to be my snapshot". I wrote it as soon as I came home. I only hope I wrote it well enough that others could see, too. Thanks, "Moms"--it seems the ones who have been there, are most likely to come again!  Gracious ladies, y'are! |
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