Four more summers.
That’s it.
Four more summers until our first child is 18 and maybe leaves home.
I know, I know.
If you’ve been reading this column for a while, you know that it always comes back to the reality that time is dwindling and as a mother, I feel it.
Parenting is a constant reminder of how deep the well of your love is, alongside the breadth of responsibility. This truth is immovable, while we also fail to realize that even with much wisdom and strategy, we still have no ultimate control of everything.
I recently lamented to friend and this column’s co-contributor, Lisa Mozloom, that “I no longer have any kids in elementary school.” She gazed back at me with silent understanding.
Just saying that out loud was cathartic.
This is the time when I start planning for the upcoming school year, but now it’s different. Instead of a supply list full of gobs of wide-ruled paper, composition books, liquid glitter glue and safety scissors, we’re talking about college-ruled spirals, pens, mechanical pencils and scientific calculators. We are also bookmarking pages for colleges and helpful internships white trying not to forget where we place the school-issued iPad charger.
Oh, and the size of shoes goes up and so does the cost. It’s like whoa and wow at the same time.
This phrase sums it all up … four more summers.
Subhead= Everyone grows up
I was an elementary teacher for six years and I see my students everywhere these days. It’s like they all know that I’m at Publix every time I decide to dawn the door of any location. Through the aisles of produce or rice, I’m taken back to the time I had each of them in my class as a kindergartner or second grader.
They aren’t the same. I know that’s the way it’s supposed to be but it’s just dumbfounding. Their elementary years were shared with me, but they have flown by.
Subhead= Losing a friend
A childhood friend of mine died in the first few days of summer. We met in first grade and became fast friends. The love and trust between us never wavered in 30 years. His death was complicated by COVID and I’ve been sobered by the short but sweet time he had on earth.
When we were in school together, I never thought about the possibility of his last day, nor did I ever contemplate the end of my youth or imagine running into former students at the grocery store. Now, as an adult, I think about the future and what it may hold for my children.
Subhead= Lessons from a stranger
I love to walk along the water in Morningside Park in the Upper Eastside. It’s a beautiful way to start the day or even end it as the sun sets. Every time I enter, there is a security guard who greets me with a beautiful smile and zealous enthusiasm. I have no idea why he is so elated every time anyone comes through. He chooses to smile when other people ignore him and it gets even brighter when you smile back.
He and many others like him are my reminder to take life’s changes in stride. His gray hair tells me that he’s seen more days than I. He must have furrowed his brows on some days or let tears fall on another. When I see him, though, he’s wearing a smile. He helps others find hope in between the chapters of their lives.
I’m very grateful for people like him who live life in the moment and with gusto.
As I connect the dots and take you along with me on this journey into the next chapter of my life, I’m pausing to laugh, smile, cringe and pray.
Meanwhile, I’ll find the time this month to keep smiling at the security guard, eat some barbecue, go for a swim … and get on that school supply list.
Fourteen summers down … four more to go.
Diamone Ukegbu is a local Little Haiti artist, creative, teacher, mom and wife who is in the throes of raising three children while trying to keep her sanity.
