On Your 17th Birthday

elijah 2

Sunday, January 26th, 11:22pm

Oh hey there, Son!

Did I tell you I found my high school transcripts the other day? Well, If I didn’t, it’s because I was a little embarrassed.  And shocked, really, to see that I had a 0.50 at the end of sophomore year. Yep. You read that right. Nearly 3.2  grade points lower than your GPA was in 9th grade. One of the many reasons why I am so darn proud of you, you hard-working, motivated student, you. And, of course, you know the story…along came little you, and I was inspired to turn my slacker ways around and begin putting a little effort into my studies. Because I knew you were depending on me.

By the way, I want you to know, Elijah, I was not the only parent of yours who stepped up when you came to existence. Your dad did the same. Since day one, he worked for you. Even at the young age of 17, he diligently showed up for work at the restaurant down the street, so that he would be able to contribute to your needs. Not that that was a particularly easy task, as the job was tedious and boring at times and didn’t particularly pay well. But day in and day out, he worked-in that job and in many others….and continues to work to this day for your little sister, your step-mom, and of course, you. I read a quote the other day, in J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan…you may remember it: “There are many different kinds of bravery. There`s the bravery of thinking of others before one`s self. Now, your father has never brandished a sword nor fired a pistol, thank heavens. But he has made many sacrifices for his family, and put away many dreams.”  Putting aside one’s needs for the sake of another is no small feat. Yet your dad was able to put much aside in his efforts to be a good father to you. I want you to know that.

And so, you grew, and we grew, and suddenly I was in college, where I found out I was a pretty good student after-all. A 4.0 student to be exact, and I was getting rather confident. Except when it came to my math skills. I don’t know why, but I had a hang up with math. I thought I wasn’t cut out for it. So when it came time for me to take statistics to fulfill transfer requirements for the CSU system, I was a little freaked out. The first day of class, you were having a rough time saying good-bye to me as it was also your first day at the college’s preschool. Separation anxiety was in full effect. I lingered a little too long to comfort you, and was late getting to class. The instructor gave me the eye as I hurriedly seated myself while mumbling my excuse about having to drop my son off and I’m sorry it won’t happen again. But it was too late. I knew she wasn’t impressed. I was red in the face, and feeling quite intimidated as I flipped through the syllabus that day. “How in the world am I going to pass this course?” I wondered.

I vocalized my concerns to a gentleman I had befriended in another one of my classes…an older man by the name of Wayne. Wayne was smart and generous and well versed in the ways of the world. He listened to my concerns and offered to help tutor me, as he had taken the exact same course the semester before. But more importantly, he advised me not to doubt my ability to ace the class, if I so desired it. “But I’m not GOOD at math stuff!” I protested. “We’ll see, ” he responded. As it turns out, I didn’t need much tutoring…I took some of Wayne’s notes early on, and studied them furiously during class breaks and late in the evening long after you were asleep. And to my surprise. It all began to make sense. Not only did it make sense…I found that I loved it. Loved it. I began looking for statistics in everything I read. In the newspaper, in the magazine articles, and in the peer-reviewed research that was assigned reading in my other classes. I ate that stuff up. And I aced the class. I remember when the final scores were posted, and afterward we all stood in the hall comparing our standings…I had the second to highest grade in a class of 38 students. And I never had a complex about math again.

Statistics. I thought a lot about them back then…about who I was destined to be, and more importantly, what was in store for you. At the time, I was hyper-aware of what the statistics said you’d become, being that you were the son of teen parents. The cautionary tale went something like this: likely to be retained a grade, likely to drop out of school, highly likely to become incarcerated. That, my son, is what the statistics said.

But you’ve written your own story, haven’t you? I cannot take full credit for the young man you’ve become. You’ve been blessed with a community of people who have loved, encouraged, and supported you along the way. Your accomplishments are a reflection of all of them, and of your parents…but in the end, it all comes down to you. You’ve done this for yourself. And you’re not done yet.

For you, childhood is waning. You are doing amazingly well in all your courses. You are well read, thoughtful, and organized. You’re a dedicated baseball player, and a responsible sibling to your brothers and sisters. I’m so very proud of you.

And soon, you’ll be choosing majors, and schools, and careers…you’ll learn to juggle jobs and friendships, finances and hobbies…and there is much for you to learn.

But most importantly, I want you to remember that your success is not only for you.  As you climb the ranks, and make your way into adulthood, be ever-mindful of those around you who may need encouragement, or information, or support or advocacy. Life’s most humbling moments can often be witnessed in the little ways in which we help one another—in simple ways such as offering tutoring or notes, an encouraging word, a kind gesture, a friendship.

You, Elijah, were given the gift of a sharp mind, quick wit, and a compassionate heart. The three don’t always go hand in hand. And this is why I’m convinced that,

Someday…somewhere… someone may sit on their couch, late in the night, listening to the clock tick-tock away (as I’m doing now) and writing about the ways in which you impacted their life. You may never know the full scope of your actions. Or perhaps you will. But either way, it will have been worth it.

Rest now, little one. The world awaits you when you wake. And there is so much for you to do…

With Love,

Mom

P.S. Mr. Wayne Maytum, if you ever get around to reading this…thank you, sir, for believing in me. The image of your warm smile stays forever in my memory.

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