| Digital Doorway Network |
| Local Area Directory Information |
| Grain Valley, Missouri |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| HUMOR FROM THE PUMPKIN PATCH By Marti Lawrence Articles published in The Examiner Newspaper High Salt Generator Middle Son is now a High School Graduator. I am now a High Salt Generator. We gathered the family (also known as the Tribe of Tremendous Tribulation), under the midday sun for the commencement. Of course before leaving the house I had to repair my makeup because he looked so adorable in his cap and gown…and I cried. I looked at all of those shining young faces, marching in unison towards the stage and their destinies, resplendent in their blue and white…and I cried. |
 |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |
| Copyright © 2010 All Rights Reserved Site Design by Digital Doorway |
| The class valedictorian gave a stirring speech, her voice cracking near the end, and naturally…so did I. As each student’s name was called, and they proudly ascended the stairs to receive their diploma, I was thinking the same thought as every mother there…”Don’t trip on the steps”. None did, and I sighed. When the choir (which included Middle Son) sang, “May You Always Have A Song”, Husband smiled at me and whispered, “May you always have a tissue”. Which, of course, made me cry. When the fireworks went off following the benediction, Eldest Son (a 1996 graduate, the first class to graduate from the new building) remarked, “Geez, we didn’t even have running water out here for ours”, but I knew he wasn’t really upset, as he gently nudged me, sporting a warm, wide grin. I elbowed him back, and rested my head momentarily on his shoulder. Then I cried. When Daughter mentioned that she would be in the 99th graduating class - well, you know. Of course the Tribe is used to it by now. Eldest Son and Husband took photos for me, knowing mine would all be out of focus. Besides, after the first few years, Husband grew weary of having to remove tear-induced mascara stains from the camera. I cry at anything even remotely emotional. I cry at news of births, deaths, weddings, and graduations. I cry at the sight of kittens and puppies. If ANYTHING happens that causes me to say, “awwwwwww”, my eyes are leaking. Baby products and long-distance- calling-plan commercials reduce me to eye-dribble. Hi, my name is Marti, and I am a weeper. When the students tossed their mortarboard caps high into the air, sailing skyward with the tassels trailing like rocket exhaust, I followed them upward with my eyes, and the silent prayer in my heart, “Don’t land in the mud”. When they didn’t, I smiled. But there were teardrops dribbling into the corners of my mouth. When the principal said, “I present to you, the graduating class of 2004!” I thought, “Gads, I’m old”. And I laughed. Later, we attended the Grad Night party - and what a party it was! (Kudos to Best Friend!) Fun, food, games, laughter, and Middle Son avoiding his mother like the plague, lest she break out sobbing or try to hug him. I hobbled from place to place with my cane, and the polite youngsters moved aside, their politeness speaking volumes about what great parents they have; parents who’d become my friends while I was working on the Grad Night Committee. Just thinking about them…(grabbing for tissues). And of course, I blubbered. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I have embarrassed my children with goodbye kisses in front of their peers. I have mortified them by calling out, “I love you!” as they got out of the car. I have cried at every play, choir or band performance. I have cried at teacher conferences, hearing good news or bad. (It never swayed the grade.) I will probably never overcome my weepiness, and will be doomed to a lifetime of clutching tissues, sniffling, and dabbing discreetly during sad movies, and all manners of emotional events. It is a part of who I am. The blutzy weeper, long may she drain. |
