For the Mom of the Kid without an Award

The Glorious Table is pleased to welcome Patricia Beal to the table today. Patricia is the author of A Season to Dance, which is her first novel.

It’s that time of the year—balloons, flowers, photos, trophies, medals, and happy Facebook posts. Lots of happy Facebook posts.

I despise awards assembly season. With a passion.

If we’ve had a bad year, I despise it because I feel like a failure. If we’ve had a good year, my heart and my eyes, however discreetly, are with those who are hurting. It’s awful. And we are just beginning. My kids are in elementary school.

Yes, happy kids deserve major kudos, but what about everybody else?

A good author friend who’s also a high school teacher wrote a post about teens who don’t get an award. I love her perspective and her heart, and you can find her post here.

I want to write to the moms of little ones. Oh, the burden we carry. I see you. I’m giving out gold medals too.

To,

The mom whose kid has a special condition that requires frequent doctor appointments. There goes the perfect attendance trophy and the medals too. But I’m giving you a gold medal. I see you.

The mom whose kids missed school because Dad is in the army, and you chose to pick him up as a family after a twelve-month combat deployment. Good-bye perfect attendance. Gold medal. I see you.

The mom who had to think twice when her kid woke up feverish. Send her to school sick? Hmm. An Advil eight hours or a trophy-less and tearful graduation? Gold medal. I see you. And I love you. And I won’t judge you—whatever you decided. The pressure is real.

The mom whose kid cries through three hours of daily homework (and has cried since kindergarten). Grades to show for it? None good. Gold medal. I see you.

The mom whose kid is suicidal, in addition to having no friends and low grades. Gold medal. I see you. All of you.

The mom whose kid was just diagnosed with autism and who now faces a million new decisions. Gold medal. I see you.

The mom of the kid who has oppositional defiance disorder and fears her child, but still loves him to the moon and back and is heartbroken when he walks away from another school year empty-handed. Gold medal. I see you.

The mom whose kid tries hard but always comes up short when it comes to grades. Gold medal. I see you.

The mom whose kid is crazy smart but just doesn’t test well. Gold medal. I see you.

The mom who works full-time to provide for the home and who spends hours on school projects every weekend, but whose kid still doesn’t make good grades. Gold medal. I see you.

The mom whose kids are so different—one succeeds at everything and the other fails at everything. Gold medal. I see you.

The mom who doesn’t feel safe at home and perhaps whose home is not a good learning environment because of the other people in it. No homework or study time, no trophy. Gold medal. I see you.

The ADHD moms, Aspie moms, autism moms, and all moms who are fierce advocates for their kids’ needs. Gold medal. I see you.

The mom whose kid finally gets a trophy and then drops the trophy. Gold medal and superglue—lots of superglue. I see you.

The mom whose kid needs medication to learn and retain information, and who’s constantly having to adjust levels, often trying new things. Gold medal. I see you.

The mom whose kid missed school to go to a funeral. Gold medal. I see you.

The mom who’s not liked by the teacher and maybe not by the principal either because she’s not afraid to express her concerns. Gold medal. I see you.

Any mom I might have missed whose heart breaks at awards ceremonies. Gold medal. I see you.

You’re not alone, Mama. It may feel that way because we’re too sad or embarrassed to talk about the trophies and medals our kids didn’t get at the awards assembly. But you’re not alone. Avoid Facebook for the next few days, chin up, and tell it to Jesus.

May God bless you and guide you this summer and always as you make decisions for your children. Take care of your heart and hug your babies. And relax. You’ve earned it—even if the school made you feel as though you haven’t.

[Tweet “Take care of your heart and hug your babies. And relax.”]

Patricia Beal is a 2015 Genesis semi-finalist and First Impressions finalist. She is represented by Les Stobbe of the Leslie H. Stobbe Literary Agency, and A Season to Dance is her debut novel. She graduated magna cum laude from the University of Cincinnati in 1998 with a B.A. in English Literature and has worked for the U.S. Army as a writer and editor for many years. Patricia writes from El Paso, Texas, where she lives with her husband and two children.

Photograph © Prixel Creative, used with permission