When I was in middle and high school, my schools sent home progress reports halfway been the semester. The progress reports detailed every single grade you had received in your classes since the beginning of time. Every. Single. Grade. So this was the day where a few kids started sweating bullets because the “A” they told their parents they’d gotten on their math test was really “A few more grades like this and Johnny will never leave school ever.”
I particularly hated progress report day, because while I
tried not to didn’t lie to my parents about my grades, I knew that my mother would take each progress report, sit with me on the couch, and go over every item on that sheet of paper. Every. Single. Grade. It drove me nuts. Then I would go to school the next day and heard about kids whose parents had just signed the report after barely glancing at it, and I wished that my mom would do the same thing.
Fast forward to the end of high school, college, and jobs. All of which I was able to achieve with a reasonable degree of accomplishment. Not because I am a genius, but because without even realizing it, I was learning the value of working hard and wanting to be proud of anything that had my name on it.
It took me a long time to realize that every time my mom went over my progress report with me, she was doing me a great service. And she was showing me how much she loved me. Did the kids whose moms didn’t go over their reports still graduate, get jobs, and know they were loved? Definitely. But looking back on it now, I realize that my siblings and I were some of the luckiest kids in the school, because my mom not only asked us to try our best, but she truly believed (and still does) that if we just tried hard we could accomplish anything.
My sister is a elementary school teacher with a masters degree in her field. She can organize like the wind, never forgets a birthday or anniversary, and has a genuine love for people that draws others to her. My brother is one of the best drummers I have ever seen, is willing to help a sister out (see what I did there) whenever he is needed, and worries about getting to work on time because he wants to make sure he doesn’t slack on his job. I am not trying to brag; really, I’m not. I am now able to look at these accomplishments and know that none of them would be possible without parents like ours who never accepted less than our best because they knew we could be anything.
What’s funny is that my last two years of high school, they stopped sending progress reports home – and I was disappointed. I wanted to show them to my mom so she could see my hard work.
I got blessed with a good mom. One who sings weird songs to me on my birthday, who constantly invites my friends over and treats them like family, and who tells me at least twice a day that she loves me. And if you would like her to be your mom, just give her a call – she’ll adopt you :)
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!!