It’s the season for all those awards ceremonies at schools.
Special end of the year plays and concerts.
The works.

Yesterday I had an awards ceremony for my middle son.
He is a sophomore in high school.
He was getting an academic award.

He is insanely smart.

Like really smart.

So I walk in and sit down.
The ceremony starts
And he is literally the 4th kid in line.
He walks through, gets his award.
I look at the program.
There are pages of kids on the list yet to go.
Pages.

For real though
Honesty time…
I looked around and instinct told me
I am done here.
That was my kid.
He is the one I came to see.

Can it be done now?
Can I leave?

Please?

But, no.
Pages of kids to go…

So I sat.

I looked around the room, and I was fairly convinced that the other parents in the room felt the same way.

Every family with it’s own story.
Every parent with their own journey of trials, mistakes, triumphs…
Just like me

Each one pretty much there for just one person.

Their kid.

It’s not like I was not happy for the daughter of the mom sitting next to me.
Honestly, I didn’t know either one of them.

As a parent, I pour everything into my kids.
Everything.

And I feel a little terrible saying this,
But he was the one human in that room that mattered to me at that moment.
He was the one human in that room that I would do anything for.
Anything.

Don’t get me wrong, he had friends in his class that I was very proud of as well.
I clapped and was happy for them.

But it wasn’t the same.
Not at all.

He’s my kid.

My kid.

My chubby hilarious toddler.
Who turned into a witty fun elementary school kid.
Who transformed into an intriguing, brilliant, teenager.
Who is sure to be an amazing adult.

And I will be the one watching.
Cheering him on.
Proud.

Because I’m the mom.

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