A friend posted yesterday, that her kid wouldn’t allow her to post any grad photos. I admire her respect for her kid’s wishes.
I, on the other, never asked. I assumed that since I paid for the clothes and the dinner tickets, I could post a photo. Then there’s also the taxi services, field trips, late nights, last minute assignments, and scrambles to find missing stuff. I’ve tried to decipher teacher instructions, handle messes, deal with bullies, cope with tears and fears, all with grace. I will never forget that one time Little Guy didn’t come home and I called the cops after madly driving/running everywhere trying to find him. Then I was full-on crazy but it’s understandable.
It all comes with the title – Mom!
But he has a title too – Son!
He’s mine. I’m proud of him. I waited a long time for him. Gushing ridiculously would be embarrassing, but a photo? There are worse things I could do to him, and he knows it.
Still…not asking might be considered an infraction by some, so I decided to even up the score by posting my Grade 8 grad photo. And I picked the worst one!
This is what happens when I’m concentrating on not poking my eye out with an eyelash wand and someone yells, “Hey Jenn? Jenn!” and snaps your picture as soon as you look at them.
It was 1980-something. Peach was the “in” colour. Big bows and poofy perms were also all the rage. My Mom made my dress, but ran out of time to add the ruffle to the hem. I wore low, white heels, which my Dad took me to K-Mart to buy. I was allowed to wear eye shadow, mascara and lip gloss only!
My room was wall-papered with Garfield (I still love fat cats!) clawing his way down the wall, with pastel stripes. Those medals are from winters spent figure skating. There’s also a 3rd place ribbon from Track & Field. It was the only one I ever won. Had I figured out I was better at long-distance running than sprints before Grade 8, I might have earned more.
My Mom and Grandmother came to the ceremony. My Dad was a firefighter and had to work. We had a dance too, but it ended at 9, not 10. None of the boys would dance with me or my friends because we were “square” so we took turns dancing with my “boyfriend”. He and I had been friends since Kindergarten, and I think we were “dating” because we felt pressured to have someone. It seemed so important at the time.
Looking back, it wasn’t a magical night, but it was a lot of fun! We felt like we had accomplished so much and we were ready to go out and change the world. Maybe some of us did!
So to Little Guy, and my friend’s baby…and all the other graduates out there. Congratulations! And happy Friday!