Top achiever and tears: a mommy’s heart on full display

Today I finally get to sit down and write about something that made my whole mommy heart swell in ways I didn’t even know were possible. It all started with a simple envelope crumpled at the corners because, of course, big boy had stuffed it into his bag with zero ceremony.

“Mommy, this is for you,” he said, as casually as if he were handing me a grocery slip. But when I slid out that invitation to the school’s academic awards ceremony -  an event only a selected few are invited to -  my heart already started doing little somersaults.

I don’t think he understood the magnitude of it. He saw the excitement in my face but not the depth of it; not the days of homework battles, reading practice, spelling tests, and late-night pep talks that sit behind moments like these. For him, it was just another day. For me? It was a proud moment.

From that moment on, I was counting down the days. I kept thinking, “My Mr. Hundred-Words-Per-Second, my little above-average chatterbox, is going to be recognised for his efforts, because I know and his dad knows how much effort he puts into his work.”

And even though he’s always been bright, there’s something about waiting to hear your child’s name being called that just hits differently.

And then the moment arrived. The  buzzed, parents whispering, teachers straightening their programmes, children fidgeting in their chairs. My heart felt like it was sitting right up in my throat.

“Top achiever for English Home Language… Cairo Ruiters!”

Here we go.

I don’t know how to explain the feeling properly because I can’t even remember breathing in that second. But I remember the tears stinging behind my eyes as I watched my son, my tiny-in-stature but giant-in-brain boy, walk up onto that stage.

I heard the soft aaawwws ripple through the crowd because of his height. He hates that part, but I always tell him, “Small person, big brain, my boy.” He wasn’t impressed at first with being so small-built, but today? Today he was standing tall.

Then came the announcements for the overall achievers. And as name after name was called and his wasn’t, that familiar mom instinct kicked in.

I glanced over at him, already preparing myself for that face. But then I noticed his teacher walking up to him. “Is he talking? Is he crying? What’s happening?” I thought, panicked.

Low and behold after the ceremony she tells me he fell asleep. I had to laugh. My child! Probably the excitement of the previous evening kept him wide awake and then the long programme finally caught up with him.

But the real drama started outside. Suddenly the tears came big, heavy, uncontrollable sobs. “No mommy, I don’t want to take photos! I didn’t get the trophy award!” he cried. Imagine that: me and his dad ready to burst with pride, and my boy heartbroken because he didn’t get a trophy like the overall achievers.

There I was, caught in a win-lose moment. Wanting to celebrate his achievement but also needing to soothe a wounded little heart. So I knelt down and told him, gently, “My boy, being a top achiever in English is a big deal and we are super proud of you, you should be too. If you can read well, write well, speak well then the world is your hands.”

I reminded him that he would have many more chances to go for that overall trophy. And when that day comes, the feeling of pride won’t be any different from today’s joy. I even told him, “Mommy only got a trophy in Grade 12. You got your first award eleven years earlier than I did. That means your brain is already shining so bright.”

He sniffed, wiped his face, and although his heart was still a little tender, I could see the message settling somewhere inside him.

And as for me? I’ll never forget this day my son’s first academic award, his first heartbreak over a trophy, and my first lesson in balancing pride with comfort. My boy is brilliant. And this is just the beginning.

[email protected]

Weekend Argus