The Awards Ceremony

I'm a single working mom, and because of my limited time, I can't volunteer much at Mark's school. So when a friend asked me to help with the 8th grade graduation activities, I jumped on it.

My job, along with my friends Karen and Liz, was to co-chair the 8th grade awards ceremony. Karen, Liz and I worked the entire school year on the ceremony, tying it into the overall graduation beach theme, and coordinating decorations with the other activity chairs. 

We worked with a designer on the invitations and programs. We emailed the guidance counselor questions. We worked with parents, finding volunteers to set up the stage and an artist to decorate the cafeteria for the reception afterwards. We solicited treats from parents, to feed the hungry masses. And all the while, I fretted over just one thing: whether or not my kid would get an award.

"He'll be there with me anyway," I told Karen. "I just hope he's sitting onstage."

I wasn't being mean; Mark's whip-smart and wickedly funny, although that combination seems to get him in trouble more often than it earns him awards. He's also good at sports, but was recognized for that at the sports award banquet. He's an outstanding kid, but only a decent student; I hoped desperately he'd earn an academic award, but it wasn't guaranteed.

And I wasn't the only one wondering. 

"I don't think I'll get an award," Mark admitted. "I don't know what I'd get one for."

"Maybe music?" I suggested hopefully. 

Mark played in the school jazz band every Monday afternoon. And while most kids played in either the school band or orchestra, Mark volunteered for both, meaning he went to zero period every. single. day. An extra hour of school every morning, voluntarily--that had to be worth an award, right?

But I still held my breath right up until a couple weeks before the ceremony. Then one day, a letter arrived in the mail--including an invitation to the awards ceremony!

I was thrilled, and texted Karen immediately. She was just as happy as Mark and I!

The day of the ceremony finally arrived. I spent it running around--buying flowers to decorate the stage, and re-potting them all because they came in ugly containers. I helped Karen, Liz and the other volunteers at school, unloading my car in endless trips to decorate the stage and the cafeteria. I ran off to buy cookies, and chips, and chip bowls. I stopped to get Mark and Sean dinner, so they wouldn't starve halfway through the ceremony, then took them home to dress. I rushed them back to school, and finally, after a long, hectic day, I sat down to enjoy the fruits of so many months' labor.

Oh, and did I mention the perks of being a committee chair? The best was that I got a front-row seat in the auditorium--I sat closer to the stage than I'd ever sat the entire time Mark attended school. I was dog-tired, but thrilled to be close enough to the stage to take a decent photo of my son receiving his award.

But Mark foiled that plan right away. He hopped onstage and disappeared into the back row, hiding in a group of girls, determined not to make eye contact or acknowledge me. Whatever. As long as I got my front-row photo when it counted, I didn't care.

The ceremony moved along briskly. The same 10-12 kids got called onstage repeatedly, smiling broadly and holding up award certificates for their proud parents. Cameras clicked constantly and flashes lit up the stage. I couldn't wait for my turn. 

I followed the program, motioning excitedly to Kathleen when we reached the music awards. The big moment arrived, and then...nothing. No award. Five kids who were not mine collected their band awards, then marched back to their seats.

"I don't know what else he's eligible for," I told Kathleen, frantically scanning the remaining awards. Scholarship, math, most inspiring student. (No, no, and God no!) Geography bee, California Junior Scholarship Federation, most improved student of the year. I couldn't see any of those awards in Mark's immediate future.

The guidance counselor announced the honor student awards for GPAs 3.5 and above. She called out every kid's name but Mark's, so many kids they didn't even fit on the stage steps. The kids completely blocked the stage, so I couldn't even see Mark at all.

And then finally, miraculously, I heard Mark's name.

"That's my boy!" I told the woman next to me, proudly. Our friends around us clapped a little harder and cheered for Mark.

"What is it for?" Kathleen whispered, from the other side of my seat. 

"I have no idea," I answered, aiming my camera. 

It was then I noticed the battery light blinking--seriously, it was dying NOW? I focused center stage, knowing I only had one chance, praying the battery lasted long enough to capture this moment.

"Please, please, please, please, please," I chanted silently.

Mark whispered and giggled onstage with the girl next to him.

"Mark!" I whispered frantically, pointing my camera at him. "Over here!"   

He smiled, looked at me, and I pressed the button...just as he simultaneously smirked and raised his certificate to cover his entire face.

The entire front row gasped. I lowered the camera, shocked, humiliated, my face burning with embarrassment. I'd worked nine months for this moment--his one award--and Mark ruined it all in one second, trying to be funny, but really just being snotty.

Maybe nobody noticed, I thought, although the collective gasp seemed to contradict that.

"That little brat!" Kathleen fumed.

"Stinker!" Liz texted, from half a row over. So much for no one noticing...

The ceremony ended shortly after that, although I'm not even sure which awards were left. I spent the rest of the time slumped in my chair, mentally beating up my questionable mothering skills.

Mark knew he was in deep trouble, because he rushed up to me immediately afterwards, saying, "I'll take a nice photo for you now, as many as you want." He bit his bottom lip, offering up a nervous smile and his award certificate toward me.

I wanted to be that cool, collected mom who realizes her immature son just picked the wrong moment to be funny, and lets it go. But I'm not that mom, any more than Mark is that kid who realizes these are important moments for a mom. 

"I don't want any pictures," I said, eyes stinging, disappearing into the crowd. I just wanted to be left alone.

I ignored him during the reception, and at pizza afterward with Kathleen and Juan. 

On the way home, I  explained why what he did was wrong--how it hurt my feelings, and how badly he made me feel. I know he felt bad, but only because he knew he'd done something wrong by seeing it on everyone else's faces. To this day, he probably doesn't understand what was so bad.

As for me (because yes, I am gonna make this about me)...well, I do recognize it for the moment it was. A moment when I realize that I'm not just a loving mom, but a constant source of embarrassment to my teenager, simply because I exist. It's taken me two weeks to get here, to not take it personally, but man, it's hard not to.

I get it...I was a bratty teen, too, and said stupid things to my own mom that probably hurt her just as deeply. And boy, does it stink to realize that, too. Maybe this is just karma, repaying me back tenfold.  

Either way, I'm gonna work on thickening my skin. Or clearing up my calendar by saying no to all future awards ceremonies. And thanking my camera battery, because seriously, the only thing that made this whole debacle a little less worse was that I didn't get 20 pictures of it. 

I guess that's the silver lining, huh?