Awards Ceremony

Brandon won some awards at school the other day, and I went to see the ceremony.

It's strange; I'm not the mushiest mother in the world, not that much into kid stuff generally, but school programs tend to turn me into a pitiful weepy ball of emotion. My heart fluttered, just watching Brandon and his first grade classmates lined up across the stage holding their certificates so proudly.

Think of it: their loved ones assembled to watch, applaud and photograph them as the biggest boss of the place shook their hands and said "Great job!" and handed them an award. The beaming children have no idea that life will only be that way for a little while, but the parents know it and I think that's why we cry.

The principal asked us to turn off all cell phones. "For the next little while, your boss doesn't need you," he said. "Your kids need you."

Then the first grade teachers took turns standing at the podium, calling the names of children who had perfect attendance and whose grades were admirable. A glamorous-looking daddy in a long black woolen coat had taken time from his day to be there. He intercepted his little girl as she descended from the stage and presented her with a beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers. All of us flashed our cameras and our smiles, and gave our children hugs when the ceremony was over. We told them how proud we were.

"Brandon got a birthday present today," his teacher told me. That night, when Brandon showed us the gift he'd received from his friend Robert, I turned to mush all over again. In a tiny Christmas gift bag, Robert had placed an obviously-loved stuffed lion of his own. Onto a piece of notebook paper he had taped a pretty Christmas pencil, and under that he had drawn and colored a lion. "Happy Brday Brandon," his note said. The very idea of that little boy thinking of Brandon the night before and going around his own home gathering things to make a gift for him was enough to break my heart--in a good way. As my mother-in-law said, it almost gives you hope for the next generation.

But back to the topic of school programs: when Bliss was in elementary school, she sang in the talent show every year. I always went to see her and she did a great job, but the moment that stands out in my mind from all those shows involves a child I didn't know.

The performer was a tiny blonde girl who must have been in pre-K. She wore a light pink ballet leotard, tights and ballet shoes. Her mother stood to one side of the stage for moral support, and put on a CD of classical music. The little girl raised both arms gracefully over her head and simply ran, rather slowly, 'round and 'round in a big circle. That was all. She was too little to do anything fancier, but the rapturous look on her face was enough to kill me in my seat. She was so lovely and innocent it made your throat ache just to watch her, because you knew that in her future--like everybody's--there would eventually be troubles and heartaches of some kind. But she would always have this one moment where she stepped onto the stage and did a very simple thing, and everybody loved and applauded her for it. That time in life is so brief.