Today I took a few hours off of work to attend my little sister's Honor's Day at my alma mater. She is graduating next week with her honor's high school diploma. She has had health problems all through high school and the fact that she is graduating at all should be impressive. She is going to my college alma mater on a Presidential Scholarship she earned through academic achievement and competition among others in her class. To say I am very proud is an understatement.
With my mother in Georgia with my older sister who just had her fourth baby, it was left to my father to be the family support today. She asked me to come, and I was more than happy to oblige. I was proud to be there. She is going to school on an honor's scholarship, works a part time job, and just had her gallbladder removed. She's my hero. And as I sat in the audience and watched her accept her awards I was acutely aware of the role I had had to play in her development. I was a source of strength and love for her, a refuge from the home we both grew up in. I was grateful she allowed me to be there for her.
Sadly, I had to leave before the ceremony was over to get back to work on time. I felt alright, I had seen the important parts (her part). As I walked back up the aisle a teacher stepped into my path. I did not recognize him but thought maybe I had had him in school. He stuck out his hand to greet me and said, "You're beautiful, just like your mother." I was taken aback, appreciative but taken aback. Then he introduced himself, he was an old friend of my parents. He had known me since I was three. I thanked him and walked on out with a spring in my step.
The school was the same. Had the same smell, same paint, albeit a new coat, the teachers hadn't changed. Most were a little older, but then again so was I. The students hadn't changed. The faces had, but the stereotypes had stayed the same.
Case in point:
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