He was determined to make the honor roll
And he started to say his dream out loud: “I am going to make honor roll this year.” He’d say it over and over, as if saying it out loud could make it so. I admit that in a quiet corner of my heart, I never really let myself believe it. I didn’t think I could handle my own disappointment alongside his if he missed that mark again. So I cheered and I championed and I was terrified when he told me that report cards were coming home the next day.
Sure, there had been an uptick in his spelling-test scores and he was reading with confidence, even if not always with accuracy. But would this equal a grade higher than the Cs and Ds we were used to? I had no idea. I just know I showed up at the bus stop early. I sat in the minivan with the engine running and the windows cracked open and I waited.
The sun bled through the watery clouds and the big yellow school bus rolled to a stop at the corner of Forest Avenue. I squinted through the window at the door that had folded open, and my brain tried to catch up with what my eyes were seeing: kids hopping off the bus one by one, blocking my view, and then the biggest boy in the neighborhood standing on the bottom step with his hands held high above his head, clutching a sheet of paper like it was a golden ticket and yelling, whooping really, as loud as he could, “I made honor rolllllll! I did it! I did it!”
Then he was in the car and shoving the paper into my stunned hands as I scanned the grades and then the words in that final paragraph: “Congratulations on making honor roll!”
He really did it! All A’s and the long-dreamed of B’s, in reading and spelling and comprehension. I almost scared him with my excitement for him. My chest heaved and my eyes filled as I wrapped my arms around him. Because there’s no brave like watching our kids be brave. There’s no joy like watching them overcome their deepest fears. I hugged Micah tight to my heart in the car, the gearshift poking us weirdly in the ribs, my mascara streaming down my cheeks, tears and laughter mingling, and his eyes were a mirror of my own: disbelief and wonder at the same time.
We drove down the gravel lane to our house, and when he saw that his dad’s car was already parked there, already home, he flew out of the car and straight for his father. I caught up to them in the kitchen as Micah waved his report card in the air, and his dad’s face caught fire with pride and he braced himself as Micah, our giant boy, launched into his arms.
Their crazy laughter was like a magnet for the rest of the family, and everyone piled on and we were a scrum of celebration. This is why we do the 364 nights of tears and frustration—because we know there is that one day waiting out there to recognize all we have sown. That one day when we get to reap so much delight that we can barely hold it all in our hands.
To all my fellow moms walking the long road of helping kids overcome learning challenges, please know I think you are the biggest kind of brave. May your faithfulness be celebrated and your kids know that they are phenomenal! Because theirs is the bravest kind of brave: the brave of the long road of perseverance.
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Adapted from The Middle Matters by Lisa-Jo Baker Copyright © 2019 by Lisa-Jo Baker. To be published by WaterBrook, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, on July 23, 2019.
