I watched in awe as you got up at 5:30 before school to practice soccer. Then, you asked to practice on Saturday, and I watched you practice. Neither of these times includes regularly scheduled practices with the high school team on Sundays and Mondays, nor games on Tuesdays and Thursdays with the league.

Your grit and determination at such a young age are truly inspiring. I told myself I’d start getting up when you do during the week to prepare myself for the next year when I plan to attend UAB and get my doctorate in Healthcare Leadership. My reasoning is that when I add coursework to my mom life and regular work, I’d have an extra hour to study, do laundry, pray, or whatever.

I remember the feeling I imagine you are feeling. The rush of playing a sport you love. For me, it was tennis. Like you, I’d get up early and play with Poppy. I loved how the racquet felt in my hand and the feeling of smashing the ball onto the other side or down the competitor’s throat, where they couldn’t return the shot. As the sweat poured from my brow, I wiped it off and reset to serve again, again, and again. I see this in you. I see your footwork, research in the best angle. You reset the ball again, again, and again. I think to myself, “Where did this kid come from?” Surely, not me. I’d like to take all the credit, but you are you.

I write this for myself selfishly, as I do not know what the future holds, but I do know I am here for whatever your plans may be with this sport or whatever you choose. I daydream that one day I am watching you in the stands when they call your name, and they happen to mention mine in association.

I am writing to let you know that I am incredibly proud of you. I cherish every moment we have together- in the car, watching scary movies, and watching you play your sport. I pray God gives me all the chances in the world to be a part of it.

You have inspired me to pursue what I’ve always wanted to do: a doctorate. Now, I have to muster my grit and prepare for the following year. I look to you for that motivation.

Together, at 5:30 AM, we will follow our dreams. This old lady will get her doctorate and maybe have an opportunity to teach college kids (a dream come true). You, my son, will play soccer at a higher level. I feel in my heart and know it in my mind.

Thanks for the inspiration and the reminder that dreams can come true, but they take hard work, perseverance, and determination. Something you already encompass. Don’t lose focus, my son. Don’t lose focus.

I love you, Mom.

I found myself this afternoon in a melancholy mood. I found The Wonder Years on Hulu and watched the first episode. In the first episode, Kevin Arnold starts his first day of Junior High. Winnie loses her brother to the Vietnam War. I wanted to cry. I had seen this episode at least a dozen times. It hit me differently today as I could see the loss of innocence in the death of her brother. I felt like innocence in today’s society has long been dead. When AI calls and threatens an elementary school on the first day, it’s a sad state of affairs, which we Demopolites all know too well from last week.

In these moods, I find myself yearning for a simpler time, pre-Columbine High School. I long for my children to grow up in the same world. Alas, when the towers came down in 2001 and the iPhone was created in 2007, there was no turning back.

I found myself ripping down old shingles off our shed that I’ve been wanting to knock down today. The only problem is I am a 5 feet 1 inch tall, 40-year-old woman who has no business ripping away at an old shed. With each swing and whack of the hammer, I released some frustrations out Twanda style. I am not sure why I get into such a state of unrest. I believe it’s genetically passed down from my grandmother, through my father, and to me.

Maybe it’s the anticipation of the next round of shots and visit to see the oncologist that has my mind in a mood. Perhaps it’s the menopause I was put in at 36. I’m not sure. I’ll get out of this funk. I talk to God about it. He knows already.

For now, I’ll reminisce, dive into writing, or into a book. I’ll miss the sense of wonder that existed so long ago. I might cry, laugh, and smile, or do all three. I’ll hug my boys, protect them a little longer. I’ll do what Paul said and let it be.