Thursday, December 14, 2006
I wrote and posted earlier today about thanks for kindred spirits. You will have to have read it to understand the significance here.
Fifteen-year-olds are not warm and fuzzy.
Fifteen-year-olds are not communicators.
Fifteen-year-olds see their parents as clueless.
In fact, fifteen-year-olds are closed doors and closed windows with a muffled sound coming from within; that is of course unless they are screaming heavy metal music.
My fifteen-year-old is text book.
After running from one kid event to another, I came home around 7:30 pm, changed my hat to that of the homework police, tossed pizza onto plates and checked my email. A comment on my earlier post stopped my hurried pace to something slow and speechless.
Fifteen minutes later, I slid back into my car with my fifteen-year-old to run him to his 8:00 pm athletic practice. I rolled into my excited monologue to share with him my meaningful day. I summarized from memory my Kindred Spirits post from earlier. I told him how people in my path on this journey of writing have been everything from fire starters to life preservers and that most likely, they had no idea how a quick email or word of support might have dramatically influenced my course.
Most importantly, I told him about an anonymous comment posted to me in response to Kindred Spirits. A person, signing as ‘Grateful to know you' shared that my being touched by a workshop piece fueled the courage for this person to seek and find publication. I rambled on to my son about how our actions, big and small, have ripple effects unknown to us and that these examples were illustrations.
As we pulled into the high school parking lot, my fifteen-year-old said to me, in an audible voice, “My heart is smiling for you because I know that yours is and I don’t know when I’ve seen you this happy. Way to go Mom.” and out he slipped.
I am not only having dessert in spite of a still full plate, but it is ala mode!