by LuJane Nisse, Editor
I cried at the last Cub Scout Pack meeting. Nothing really spectacular happened -- nothing sad, nothing extremely funny. But just the same, I cried.
Timmy stood so proud and tall as he did his little Cub Scout things they do there. He grinned his toothless grin and cocked his head just enough to make sure I was watching him and when he saw me he stood just a little taller.
As I watched him with the pride only a mom can feel for her 8-year-old boy, I remembered...and I cried.
I cried for all the times I was too tired to be bothered by an energetic, teasing little boy needing attention.
I cried because he was the last Cub Scout to get his patches sewn on his shirt -- and then they were on the wrong side!
I cried as I remembered when he came home, big eyes full of tears to tell me another little boy beat him up and I knew there was nothing I could do except hold him and let him know I cared.
I cried for expecting him to NEVER spill his milk on the carpet and lashing out at him when he did.
I cried because his father wasn't there and never would be and I felt inadequate to provide as both.
I cried because I remembered he needed his bike fixed and I didn't know the difference between a crescent wrench and a plier.
I cried because I remembered how he hugged me and said I was the best mom ever and I felt ashamed because I knew I wasn't.
I cried because last week I spanked him and the offense was not that bad -- I was just exhausted from working 14 hours a day for a week and coming home to do laundry, cook, clean, unplug the toilet and fix an ailing shower.
I cried for the many times there was nothing in the house for an after school snack and little boys need that extra energy and care.
I cried when I remembered the times I've yelled at him to "shut off the lights, don't waste your food, don't let the water run" because I knew we had no money left to pay the extra bills and he MUST act responsibly even at 8.
I cried for all the times he and his sisters had to eat cold cereal for dinner because it was impossible for me to do any more that day and that's all there was in the house.
* * *
. . . he's receiving his pin -- an award of some kind. I notice he has a dirty smudge on his face, his hair is mussed and his shoes are too big. I see he has a hole in the knee of his pants and his socks don't match -- my heart explodes with love.
* * *
I smiled and recalled with affection when he made me breakfast in bed -- burned toast and orange juice. He watched with pride as I ate it all, complimented and hugged him.
I grinned when I remembered his excitement at bringing home 100% on his spelling test and telling me he's in the highest reading group.
I smiled when I remembered how he cuddled up to me last night with a book and wanted me to read to him and then asked if he could sleep in my bed -- "just tonight."
I laughed inside when I remembered checking on him at night and finding trucks, cars, space ships, and little toy men laying helter skelter all over him and his bed while he was fast asleep hugging tight his worn out, fuzzy teddy bear.
I smiled as I remembered the time I cried, worrying about who knows what or perhaps just self-pity and he squared his shoulders and said, "I'll take care of you mom. Don't cry" as he planted wet kisses all over my face.
I beamed when I thought of the times he came home from school, opened the door and yelled, "Mom, you home?" and I was and we kissed and hugged and talked about every detail of his day.
I smiled when I thought about the times he had bad dreams and crawled in bed with mom -- and I was there with comfort, love, and kisses for his tear-stained face.
I giggled when I remembered the time he needed his bike fixed. We worked together, he taught me, and I provided some (very little) muscle.
I smiled as I thought about when he is "sick" and stays home from school because he needs to be alone with mom -- we go to work together, he plays on my computer, draws pictures, plays in the elevator and I take him to lunch at McDonald's. He recovers quickly.
I glow when I remember that he is a special child of God, but I tremble somewhat at the thought that I, alone, have the responsibility for teaching him character, values and helping him acquire Christian self-esteem. I am comforted, however, by the knowledge that my Father in Heaven is there, as my partner, when I ask His help.