A mother’s yearbook bits of memories

 Now that I have proudly watched my fourth and final child graduate from East Rockaway High School, I’m filled with a sense of relief tinged with sadness. Some things I will remember fondly, other experiences I will be happy to leave behind. But nevertheless, the memories will always stay.

My children have come away with their own memories and experiences, good and bad, and I, as their mother, have my own. You know how the kids write their memories in their yearbooks, like bits of little thoughts, pieces of feelings, short, non-sentences? Well, here are mine — maybe you can identify:

 Making school lunches. Until it’s not cool anymore. Money for pizza Friday. Money for Italian ices. Kindergarten criers and clingers. Putting glitter all over the colorful cloth school bags. Field Day at Centre Avenue. Class trips. The smell of tuna and egg salad in a brown bag. The kids coming home for lunch to change into a Halloween costumes. Making or buying those costumes. Angel wings. Devil horns. Scary masks. Baking cookies, baking brownies, baking cupcakes. Lots of cupcakes. Checking progress reports and report cards. Congratulating (or scolding) my child on that report card. Bribing better grades with cold, hard cash. Calls from teachers (usually not good). Calls from Mr. DeTommaso (never good).

Making friends. Being friendly because your kids are friends. Being in the PTA. Being an outsider in the PTA’s inner circle. Springs and winter concerts. The district musical. Broadway Night. Getting the part. Not getting the part. Crying either way. Friendships made, friendships broken, then hearts broken. Centre hates Rhame, vice versa, then they’re all best friends when they get to junior high school. Unforgettable teachers.

Money spent. A lot of it. Money for trips. Money for book fairs. Money for an assignment that has to be in the next morning. Looking for a 24-hour CVS. Special reports. Also due the next morning. With glitter. And a bibliography. And paper mache. Gel pens, notebooks, 5-subject, 3-subject. Trips to Staples. Wrong book. Wrong color. “I hate school.” “So do I.” “I have no friends.” “You will.” Trying out for cheerleading. Making the squad. Trying out for football. Making the team. Getting hurt the first time out. But we’ve got photos posing in the uniform. For $100. And X-rays.

I loved it. I hated it. I wanted to homeschool. No, not really. I wanted to leave home. Sometimes, really. A thank you from them, here and there, but they don’t really know, these kids of mine, how I helped them through. They remember that I just made good lunches sometimes and mean faces frequently. I love them. I am tired, but I am proud. They were worth it.

Writing on the Wall won first place for “Best Column Writing” with Suburban Newspapers of America in 2010.