I remember the year
before you started Kindergarten. You, so angry that they wouldn’t let you begin
a year early, when you were clearly ready. I purchased several workbooks for us
to do at home, foolishly believing they would hold you over until the next fall.
I thought they would keep you busy, and maybe give you an edge up on the other
students when you began school. Often you would get frustrated with them, and I
don’t know if it was because they were too easy for you, or if even back then
you hated busy work. I still remember the day you read One Fish, Two Fish,
Red Fish, Blue Fish to me, and I couldn’t decide if you were really reading
it, or had just memorized the words. Either way, I was impressed.
The next year we bought
a house and moved to Troy, and you began first grade. Your teacher that year
was amazing, and she quickly realized that you were far more advanced than most
of her class. She moved you up to the second grade for reading instruction, although
I didn’t find out about it until the year was half over. I remember the day I
went to see the display your class had created about the layers of the ocean,
and you stood up and taught us about bioluminescence. I about fell over
listening to that big word come out of your small self.
In fourth grade you
chose Utah for your State Expo project because your best friend used to live
there. It turned out to be a poor choice, as it was a difficult state to get
products from, and that was a big part of your grade. In sixth grade you chose
Zimbabwe for your Biome project because it was the last country on the list.
Again, not the easiest country to research, but when do you do easy?
Each year in
elementary school you watched your best friend move away at the end of the year
and my heart broke for you. I watched, as the other kids grew closer, forging
friendships that had lasted since kindergarten, and you struggled, starting
over every year. When you were in fourth grade, your Grandma told me that she
thought you were depressed, and I brushed her off. I remember telling her that
you were just shy and moody, and fine. In a dark, quiet corner of my heart, I still
have not forgiven myself for that. Sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder
how different your life might have been if I had paid more attention. How much
pain and struggle I could have spared you. Then I think back on my own life,
and if I can teach you nothing else, it is that the pain and struggle shapes
our characters and makes us stronger.
Middle School and
High School haven’t been the easiest years for you. I have watched you try to
fit your square peg into a round hole, and almost succeed. You have stretched
yourself to your limits, time and time again. I have watched you step out of
your comfort zone, trying your hand at tennis, and discovering that it wasn’t
your thing, and then stepping up to be a peer mediator, and shining. You have
taken on leadership roles that have pushed you to be more social and have
taught you about patience and responsibility. You have failed, and then risen
above it, mostly, to a place where you were ok with. When your whole world
started to collapse around you, you reached inside, and found that one last
little bit of strength, and in the bravest move you could’ve made, you reached
out and asked for help.
You have come to the
end of your journey through early learning, and in a few days you will walk
across that stage and they will hand you a piece of paper that will signify to
the world that you have accomplished something. That paper really means
nothing. The experiences that you carry forward, the lessons that you have
learned, and the memories that you made… they are what you have accomplished.
Your journey is only just beginning. I hope you have a great adventure.
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