Payoff for Patience

As I rushed onto my porch yesterday morning after my early workout and scooped up my newspaper, I smiled at the headline, "Payoff for Patience."  I have no idea what that news article was about--I didn't have time to read it.  I smiled, because my oldest son would be receiving his bachelor's and master's degrees that day.

The payoff is mostly his, for his patience in getting this far through school. Of course there were times I had to be patient with him.  But, for the most part, he has been ahead of me--always reaching for the next level, the next privilege, the next responsibility before I was ready for him to be.  Although I was most patient with him then, he was an unhappy baby.  He was much happier when he could self-ambulate and try out the things he could see and think to do.

It's probably a mom thing, but as I sat in the Huntsman Center watching him graduate, his whole life flashed before my eyes.  From the moment he was born with his arms outstretched to embrace the world to his stretching to be a full foot taller than I am, I thought of it all, and texted him some of my thoughts.

I did my best to give him all I could, but he didn't have an easy life.  As a small child, his home life was not ideal, and for half of his childhood, I was a single mother.  Yet, there is something golden about him.  I should have given him Midas for his middle name.  He has the ability to envision the best for himself, then make it happen.  Socially affable and thoughtful--always careful to be kind, he makes people believe in him.  Throughout his life, I have watched others view him as a leader.  Now a full-grown adult and my academic peer, he has surpassed me in numerous ways already, and will continue to grow into his great destiny.

I was fortunate that I could see him well during the commencement exercises.  Tall and handsome, he also stood out because of the bright color designated for his college and the cords for extra achievements around his neck.  He had never mentioned them.


This was the end of a long road of education for him, a road he largely paved for himself.  But I knew as I looked at him that it was not the end of the road.  He has managed to get full free-ride scholarships to four of the most prestigious universities for PhD work, and had to turn down three of them.  Proud and humbled at the same time, I watched him and thanked God for him and what little I could do for him.  He came to me as a great soul, and I am only glad that I didn't completely mess up.

As we stood for the national anthem, I could feel my heart pounding under my hand.  I was reminded that what little I had to do with his achievements I could not have done without the freedoms I enjoy from living in a socially advanced country that allows women some rights.

I remembered his childish voice proclaiming "[His name for himself] do it!"  I remembered the first moment I knew he would be an engineer--when I saw him not build a tower with his new blocks, but lay out a city.  I remembered his first day of kindergarten.  I remembered hundreds of little and big things.

And I remembered one Mother's Day. He was about nine years old, and he had been asked to give a talk in church.  I spent much of the Saturday before his talk telling him stories about one of his great-great-grandmothers and one of his great-grandmothers.  He then worked on my first new computer on what he wanted to say to the congregation about his beloved Grandma.

It was past his bedtime by then.  I sat beside him folding clothes and trying to be patient while he captured his thoughts keystroke by keystroke.  Then he turned to me.  I felt my cheeks pink as I realized that he was looking at me as the next generation down from his Grandma.  It had been a trying week for single mother and son, and I didn't think I wanted to know what he would have to say about me in comparison to the great women we came from.

"You are a good example because you studied hard and got a scholarship," he said, and blinked back tears only a split second before I had to.

I caught him as he leaned forward and held him, then let him go.  Just as I have been doing in slow motion since he was sent to me.