Imagery from my high school track days has permanently marked me. The stretch toward the finish line; the agony of finding something deep within not previously recognized; the satisfaction of giving your best to an endeavor; the prompting of the "gun lap", a reminder to finish strong.
Hillcrest Cottage is both on the road to West Point Graduation and simultaneously enjoying last days with high school friends at the beach.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Monday, May 14, 2012
Of course, a moral dilemma ran through my vintage- clothes -selling brain. But, I knew that I had priced my 1968 era camp sweatshirt cheaply at $5.00 expecting that maybe a skinny jeans hipster would purchase it and cut off the sleeves or something.
"Five dollars," was my honest reply.
"You have no idea how much this sweatshirt means to me. Camp Mitchell! I grew up at this camp. My mom used to run this camp."
After briefly visiting with this sweet girl, I discovered that I was familiar with her mother. She had been the first woman rector in the church of my childhood.
After realizing the connection, I asked, ""Well, how is your mother these days?"
"My mother passed away several years ago." More tears.
I reached across my vintage shirts to hug her. Wow, again... just wow.
Monday, May 7, 2012
For seventeen years I have placed a brown paper bag lunch into the hands of someone I dearly love as they are rushing out the door to school. I have accomplished this for three boys; the last of three was this morning.
Today was the last school lunch... ever.
When I tell people the last school lunch is more sad than the graduation ceremony, they look at me with quizzical eyes. But, a ceremony is a one-time event. A ceremony has not been a daily routine for 12 years.
Once upon a time, the passing of the paper bag was accompanied by backpack and jacket hunts. In the later years... car keys or phone. Sometimes the passing of the bag meant a quick dash to the car and a rolling down of the window, "Thanks, Mom. Love you."
"Have a great day, bud. I love you, too."
Ever the jock with work-out clothes in hand...and I spy with my little eyes his friend's football shorts which I have been washing and trying to return for quite some time...boys.
One day he will look at this picture and say, "I loved that Tahoe so much."
Not possible for this to be the last day of high school; I see a 16- year- old driving to 10th grade.
Quite the opposite, high school is gone... finished. I am sad, but not regretful. I was here for my son every step of the way... every morning packing his lunch. I didn't miss anything! I gave him everything a mom can give... way beyond sandwiches and chips and the occasional motivational note tucked inside.
I have loved being his mom more than ink on paper could ever describe.
There is something extremely good about finishing strong and well. There is something so fulfilling in knowing you have given your "all" to a great endeavor. I am confident that the world is a better place because this man-not-boy breaths earth's air.
What could be greater than building a son?