Published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat on June 22, 2012
No wonder I feel inefficient. It’s taken a fortnight to tell you I was late for my middle son’s 8th grade awards ceremony. I tried to sneak in subtly, like a baby elephant being smuggled into a preschool classroom. For well over an hour, students were called and recognized. Some went up so many times they rivaled college students at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
What about my boy? No one had called his name. I recalled the letter I had received from the school. Unlike bulk-mail gimmicks that tease you with big-ticket prizes but only deliver a 50-cent discount on a 32-oz soda, this letter had given assurances. Hadn’t it? It’s not that I was jealous of the other students and their accolades. But who goes to a ceremony only to watch other people’s children? Teacher after teacher announced their best, or most improved, or most enthusiastic, students. Some presented a single award for the highest GPA or chose one boy and one girl. Still, my son sat namelessly in the minor sea of students. Perhaps I had had a false impression of how well he was doing.
When the all-A’s students for all three years were called, it was late in the ceremony. By the time they got to the A’s and B’s, these students were simply asked to stand as their names were called. They would get their certificates later. I got a fuzzy shot of the back of my son’s head. At least I know now to turn off the flash to avoid getting a brilliant shot of the back of a parent’s head, while my child appears dimly on a darkened background like some astronomical anomaly. No worries. I could stage the photo at home later.
The Battle of the Books sponsors (thank you for all you have done, Mrs. Howard and Mrs. Pappas!) gave awards for those who had participated all three years. So finally, my son, along with a couple of other students, was called up. As far as I could see, the teachers were finished giving their awards and the office had given out citizenship awards.
That was it, then? For this, I had run around like a maniac all morning, buying and chopping fruit for three fruit salads I was to have delivered to church twenty minutes ago? Hopefully, the fruit salad wasn’t stewing (was I?) in the back of my car. My annoyance crowded out any gratitude. I should be thankful to have even one child, much less six, all of whom are healthy and, so far, decent people, especially when closely supervised. Furthermore, they have inherited my husband’s sharp intellect.
But the mind is full of avarice and wont to take things for granted. It looks around to see what else there is. Like the child boosted upon the shoulders, it does not realize its smallness, but rather focuses on what more there is to want.
I checked my watch: 80 minutes. Gone. The ceremony would be ending in ten minutes, I assumed, since the students were scheduled to depart for a picnic and hike. I was supposed to have dropped off the fruit salads at 9:00, and it was now 9:20. If I waited until the end, the place would be overrun by exiting parents. Besides, the fruit salad couldn’t wait forever. Neither, apparently, could I.
I slinked out and hoofed it to the car. I was a little miffed. Ah, well, that’s what happens when you expect things: It is easier to be disappointed. How much better it is to expect nothing and be genuinely thrilled if it turns out otherwise. I reached the car somewhat wilted, and hoped the three bowls of fruit salad had escaped my fate.
For the record, they were in better condition than I was. It was unseasonably cool; I had parked in the shade, and the windows were slightly down. After delivering them, I returned to my list of chores. They seemed as long as the awards list, I thought bitterly.
My son returned from school at 3:00 and suddenly exclaimed that he had left his award plaque on the bus that had been driven to the field trip. (A different bus had taken them back.) “Oh, you mean your certificates?” I said somewhat coldly, remembering the fruit salads that had not had the luxury to be as icy.
He looked at me curiously. “No, the plaque…” his voice trailed off as he grasped the implications. Then, his face dawned with understanding. “Oh, so, you weren’t there?” he asked innocently.
It turns out that he received The Student of the Year award. Naturally, it had been the last one given. Right about then, I had been giving out fruit salads.
For the rest of the evening, as I mentally and verbally beat myself up, his response was a genuine, “That’s okay, Mom.” This child can be maddeningly understanding at times. Transportation Services helped us have the plaque returned safely to school, so he collected it the next day along with a science award. I couldn’t wait through whole ceremony. What was one more day?
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