As I was rushing to work this afternoon, I missed a call from my son’s school. I had the usual reaction I do when I see the name on the screen: I held my breath.
Anyone who’s a parent of a kid in school has probably had that reaction at least once. When they’re little, our thoughts turn to vomit or bleeding, or for some, anaphylaxis. As they get bigger, those medical things are still on the list, but they’re joined by fears of fights, poor grades, or that our kid just didn’t show up that day.
I started to breathe again, and called my voicemail. I heard the boy’s teacher’s voice, and my heart started to beat a little faster. A little part of me was sure he’d just poked his eye out. A bigger part of me worried he’d hit someone (er, again.) (Long story). But I listened. And I’m so glad I did.
He called to tell me how great my kid’s been doing since returning to school after the holidays: He brought his high school enrolment forms in today, and handed them in. He admitted he hadn’t finished an assignment due this morning, asked for another copy of the rubric, and stayed in at lunch to complete it. He asked for another copy of the rubric for an upcoming presentation.
If you’ve got kids who often have not so good days, hearing about the great ones is an incredible gift. I think my kid is amazing, and I worry so much that the rest of the world doesn’t get to see him the way I do. When someone takes a moment out of their day to tell me that they see him, they like him, they get him? I win the jackpot of feels.
I send this tall gangly piece of my heart into the world every day, hoping for the best.
Today, that hope was met.