Yesterday was Jordan’s last day of high school. He took his last exam and will graduate next Thursday night. Like all the other social media hounds, I wanted to commemorate the day with a photograph, maybe even pair it with a photo of when he first started 3K. All week long, I thought of Karen Kingsbury’s book, Let Me Hold You Longer, where she tells us to remember not only the first times but the last times in our children’s lives. Friday morning would be the very last time I would wake Jordan up for school. Next year, he would be in a dorm room, responsible for waking himself up.
Every school morning, I wake both my boys up at 6:45. I start with Jordan, who takes his shower every morning before school. When he was little, I used to sing “Jordan, oh, Jordan, it’s Tuesday morning…” in a very bad imitation of “Georgia” by Ray Charles. Then, I went to Joel’s room, and I usually called him by his nickname, “Piddle,” and did a version of “Hey Diddle Diddle” that starts with “Hey Piddle Diddle.” They both hate it, but making silly rhymes or singing off key to them in the mornings has been my 6:45 routine for more than 12 years now.
So, I sat at the dining room table, drinking my coffee and studying my Sunday School lesson just as I do every morning. Except this morning, I kept tilting my phone to see the time. 6:40. 5 more minutes until I do this for the last time. My heart raced and the tears pooled in my eyes, even began to slip down my cheeks. I couldn’t really concentrate on the Sunday School lesson; my mind was on that clock. 6:43. 6:44. One more minute.
Then, I heard the familiar creak of his door and out walked Jordan, right behind me and then into the kitchen. “Hey, Baby,” I said. “I was just about to get you up.”
“Hey,” he answered in his groggy, sleepy voice.
He beat me to it. He woke up on his own on his last day of school. I didn’t get to sing an off-key version of “Georgia.” I didn’t get to make a big production of the awakening ceremonies. He just woke up, got his towel, and started the shower.
I was waiting for that perfect 6:45 moment, dreading each passing second because I was tied up in my emotions and bound to the idea of making this moment sacred, and instead, the moment was thrust upon me. Jordan went on to his last day of school as if it were any regular day of school.
Truly, Jordan has never been difficult to wake. He was never one of those kids whose mom has to nearly push him out of bed and return multiple times to make sure he is in the process of dressing. No, Jordan has always been the type to just need a “Time to get up and go to school, Baby.” As he grew up and obtained a driver’s license and started driving himself to school, I would just make sure he was awake, and he took care of the rest. Showered, ironed his clothes if they needed ironing, turned up/down the thermostat, locked up the house and drove himself to school. Over the last couple of years, he often woke himself up (or was awakened by my moving around in the house and listening to the radio between 5:30 – 6:30). Getting up on his own at 6:44 was nothing out of the ordinary, even on his last day of school.
Even though I wanted a big production for the last day of school, Jordan didn’t need one. He has never needed a big production, often only endured my big productions because I am his mom, and I like big productions. No, on his last day of school, Jordan did just what he normally did, got up on his own and went about his business, exhibiting the very same responsible behavior and independence I have always hoped to teach him.
So, what else would a mom want on the last day of school? Except a photograph. I did insist on a photograph, and he obliged, appeasing his “big production” mom.
Every school morning, I wake both my boys up at 6:45. I start with Jordan, who takes his shower every morning before school. When he was little, I used to sing “Jordan, oh, Jordan, it’s Tuesday morning…” in a very bad imitation of “Georgia” by Ray Charles. Then, I went to Joel’s room, and I usually called him by his nickname, “Piddle,” and did a version of “Hey Diddle Diddle” that starts with “Hey Piddle Diddle.” They both hate it, but making silly rhymes or singing off key to them in the mornings has been my 6:45 routine for more than 12 years now.
So, I sat at the dining room table, drinking my coffee and studying my Sunday School lesson just as I do every morning. Except this morning, I kept tilting my phone to see the time. 6:40. 5 more minutes until I do this for the last time. My heart raced and the tears pooled in my eyes, even began to slip down my cheeks. I couldn’t really concentrate on the Sunday School lesson; my mind was on that clock. 6:43. 6:44. One more minute.
Then, I heard the familiar creak of his door and out walked Jordan, right behind me and then into the kitchen. “Hey, Baby,” I said. “I was just about to get you up.”
“Hey,” he answered in his groggy, sleepy voice.
He beat me to it. He woke up on his own on his last day of school. I didn’t get to sing an off-key version of “Georgia.” I didn’t get to make a big production of the awakening ceremonies. He just woke up, got his towel, and started the shower.
I was waiting for that perfect 6:45 moment, dreading each passing second because I was tied up in my emotions and bound to the idea of making this moment sacred, and instead, the moment was thrust upon me. Jordan went on to his last day of school as if it were any regular day of school.
Truly, Jordan has never been difficult to wake. He was never one of those kids whose mom has to nearly push him out of bed and return multiple times to make sure he is in the process of dressing. No, Jordan has always been the type to just need a “Time to get up and go to school, Baby.” As he grew up and obtained a driver’s license and started driving himself to school, I would just make sure he was awake, and he took care of the rest. Showered, ironed his clothes if they needed ironing, turned up/down the thermostat, locked up the house and drove himself to school. Over the last couple of years, he often woke himself up (or was awakened by my moving around in the house and listening to the radio between 5:30 – 6:30). Getting up on his own at 6:44 was nothing out of the ordinary, even on his last day of school.
Even though I wanted a big production for the last day of school, Jordan didn’t need one. He has never needed a big production, often only endured my big productions because I am his mom, and I like big productions. No, on his last day of school, Jordan did just what he normally did, got up on his own and went about his business, exhibiting the very same responsible behavior and independence I have always hoped to teach him.
So, what else would a mom want on the last day of school? Except a photograph. I did insist on a photograph, and he obliged, appeasing his “big production” mom.
Kristie Camp 