“You can’t pick out the pieces you like and leave the rest. Being part of the whole thing, that’s the blessing.” When I think of the movies I’ve watched with one or most or all of my kids over the years, no list is complete without Tuck Everlasting, hence the above quote. I know, it’s a book, too. The quote is from the book. I’m not even sure if they say that line in the movie, though I watched it with Chynna the tween at least a million times. I thought, quite a bit, in fact, about kids this weekend. Once you have children, they occupy your mind for the rest of your days. You worry about them in the early moments. Is that colic or something far worse? You worry about them as teens. Where are they when you think you know? You worry about them as adults. Are they drinking enough water? Are they making sound financial decisions? You grieve over them, God forbid, when they are lost to you. Children invade every cell of your being with the hold of a vice grip and the tenacity of an angry wasp. It never leaves you. One of my children has a mom. Weird, right? And, she’s an exemplary mom, the kind that goes out of her way to pray for the stepmother (that’s me), to make sure I get a Christmas gift, to send me the dates and times for all the stuff. We were together this weekend, we two moms. “Our” boy got his Aggie ring. This is the time I worry most about the boys, this odd limbo period between being a technical man, yet still so naïve to the world. I worry that they will place money over happiness. I worry that they will allow society to dictate their definition of success. I worry that the weight the world places on a young man’s shoulders will be so very heavy. But, the two moms stood and marveled at what we had created, one of us through the miracle of birth and the other through the miracle of providence. Sure, the kid was the one trying to down a pitcher of beer faster than all the others downed their pitchers of beer, careful not to swallow that incredibly expensive Aggie ring. But, the moms – we were the ones high fiving at what we had done. We got you here, buddy. We aren’t sure how we pulled this off, but we did it. Show me a mom with a kid in college and I’ll show you a mom who deserves the kudos. That high school research paper that accounted for half the semester grade, that was all mom magic. Remember that freshman oral essay you aced? A mom prayed it to fruition and paid for all the Tums you took to calm your stomach. That fraternity pledge you wanted so badly, that was all mom power. We offered up a decade of our own life in exchange for safe and gentle hazing. We are always there behind the scenes, hoping, willing, praying, calming, encouraging, and motivating. We know we get on your last nerve. We secretly like it that way. Your colic was nearly the death of us, after all. The least we can do is be a thorn in your newly adult side.
The story culminates like this. I was standing in a bar. It was a really cool, open air sort of bar made from shipping containers and astro turf and modern swinging chairs. It was the 3rd such place of our tour that evening. This was THE bar, however. This is where the ring dunk would commence. The kid was nervous. Could he do it, he wondered? Would he finish last? Would the beverage come up as soon as it went down? The moment was important. The weight of it hung heavily in the air. I felt a wash of profound words coming over me. I sidled up to him to tell him how proud I was in that moment and every moment. His journey to that night hadn’t gone as textbook smoothly as he’d envisioned. There was a year at a sister school and a strict GPA adherence he’d had to exceed. There have been monetary worries and logistic nightmares – just as there are with all college students. So, I’m talking and hugging and talking and trying to strike a perfect balance between being loving yet not annoying. We moms fully understand that we must convey 2 days’ worth of important talking in 2.75 minutes. We learn the art of self-editing on the fly. I said my piece. He looked at me, the kid with the other mom, the one who birthed him. I am only the one who would also take a bullet in his stead. He said, “I’m just so glad you’re here. I wouldn’t do this tonight if you weren’t. I just want you to know that this is all for Chynna. I know how badly she wanted to be at this college. I wanted you to have one of your kids graduate here.” Then, we both teared up. He is my son. After all, who wouldn’t want an extra mom? And with that, we commemorate the 14th anniversary without Chynna. You are still with us every moment of every day. We are a part of the whole thing. We take all the pieces.
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