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?

8th Grade Grad Party

The last couple weeks of school were insanely busy, so I didn't get a chance to post about all the activities. I thought late was better than never, so enjoy...

The 8th graders began their celebration week with a graduation party at the local college. Mark was most excited that it was a free dress event (he hates school uniforms) and came running outdoors in a South Park shirt when I picked him up at home. 

"You cannot wear that shirt," I said, before he even opened the door. "Go change."

"Why???" he asked, pointing at Cartman in his sunglasses under the words "Respect My Authority." "Grandma bought this for me!"

"Only because she didn't know who that was," I said. "Now go change."

He did, reluctantly. Finally, we headed off to Jonah's house to pick up his friends.

When we arrived, I realized Mark isn't the only 14-year-old who wants nothing to do with his mom--Jonah, Sean and Mark immediately ran away from us, and climbed in the car. Karen, Liz and I talked them out, insisting on pictures to commemorate the moment. The boys have been friends since they were wee little 8-year-old Cub Scouts, and the moms wanted a nice picture of how much they've grown up since.

But like the Rolling Stones say, you can't always get what you want...especially when your models are exasperated teenagers intent on ruining the photo. 

Jonah and Sean look great here...but Mark closed his eyes.

Mark opened them just a tad, but then Sean got in on the act...

And why close your eyes when you can open your mouth really wide?? 

Sean got tired and distracted, Mark just started making...weird...faces.

OK, even Jonah gave up and realized this was a lost cause. Still, this sequence shows why Jonah is my favorite kid, especially that day.

Finally, we all had enough of Mark's dumb faces and loaded them in the car. I don't know who was more relieved, the boys or the moms.

To give the kids some freedom, 8th grade parents aren't allowed at the party. Instead, the 7th grade parents chaperone the party, and the 8th grade parents just clean up afterwards (when, presumably, there is less chance of being a complete embarrassment to your kid). Karen and I were chaperones last year, so we knew what to expect--a little dancing, some pool playing and bowling, and lots of gorging on candy (between the candy, pizza and smoothies, I completely expected Mark's blood sugar to skyrocket).

Luckily, we had a spy--our friend Kimmi, who's son is  a 7th grader. Kimmi, a chaperone, promised to keep us updated (which really meant telling us if the boys talked to--gasp!--girls). 

Karen, Liz and I went off to dinner. We were enjoying crepes and wine when Kimmi's first text arrived.

"Kids are on the dance floor," Karen read aloud. "Now they're twerking!"

"Tell Mark to stop!" I answered, because let's face it, there's always a very good chance Mark's starting these things.

The next text beeped a moment later. 

"Was girls, not Mark," Karen read. "Twerking has stopped." 

We all breathed a sigh of relief, because it stopped, and because it really wasn't Mark after all.

We moved on to a more important task--choosing a dessert crepe. It was more difficult than you'd think--Karen wanted chocolate, but nothing with bananas, and Liz wanted something without nuts (she's allergic). Which was impossible, since all the chocolate crepes contained Nutella, and all the other crepes had bananas. 

"How about this one?" Liz asked, pointing at the description. "Let's just ask them to substitute strawberries for the bananas."

Which seemed easy enough--until I noticed the crepe's name---banana cream pie! We cracked up.

Eventually, we rolled out of the restaurant, and returned to the school, where Kimmi said Mark spent the whole night dancing. (I was not surprised at all.) We hid behind other parents, trying to sneak a peek at our boys, who immediately saw us and melted into the crowd. Eventually, they just ran off the dance floor entirely.

They returned a few minutes later for the 8th grade group picture. 

And for a few smaller group pictures. I was (kind of) glad to see Mark didn't limit his dumb faces to only my photos, although it was still annoying.  

Karen, Liz and I joined the clean up crew while our boys ran off. They repeatedly raided the candy bar as we cleaned up, so I kept shooing Mark away.

Finally, the student union was clean, and we drove home, just Mark and I.

"Did you have a good time?" I asked.

"Yeah," Mark said, smiling. "A really good time. That was really fun!"

"I'm glad," I said. I knew he'd have a blast.

"I'll miss my friends next year," he said. "The ones going off to other high schools."

This was the first time he'd opened up about that, so I just nodded and listened.

"Kind of a bummer," he said.

"It is," I agreed. "At least you have their numbers. You can text or call them." 

"I guess," he said, looking out the car window. "But it'll be a lot different."

I glanced over at him. Just a minute ago, he'd been a goofy kid intent on photobombing all the pictures; now, on the quiet ride home, he was much more reflective. 

It'll be okay, I wanted to say, you'll make lots of new friends. But I didn't want to minimize his feelings for his old friends, the kids he'd spent the past six years with, the kids he was so attached to now. He didn't remember much of his early elementary school years, but these years, and these friends, he cherished. And it was just now hitting him that it was all over.

"Yeah," I finally said, because nothing else seemed enough. "Yeah."

I parked the car and patted him on the shoulder. 

"I'm glad tonight was fun," I said again. "High school is gonna be different--maybe scary at first, but fun. I'll miss Cubberley, too. It's scary saying goodbye, but  nowadays, you never really say goodbye. You text or Facebook your friends--you don't have to lose touch."

He nodded.

"When I was a kid," I said, realizing just how old I sounded, "You moved on, and that was it--nobody had smart phones or social media. Maybe you kept in touch by writing letters, but usually not. So you're a lot luckier today--you actually can stay in touch with them all."

He nodded again. I knew he heard me, but I also knew he wasn't really listening. He was thinking about all these years, these kids, even his big, new school and how different next year would be. 

"Let's go," I said, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "Time for bed. High school's gonna be crazy busy--this may be the last time you sleep for four years!"

He laughed at that. And I smiled, partially because it's true, and partially because I felt the same way he did--a little bit scared of the future, but ready to take it on.