Am I a proud mama? You'd better believe it.
On Sunday, my oldest son graduated from Duke University.
|In front of the majestic Duke Chapel|
|My three sons|
None. Absolutely none.
He's not perfect at all, but he's wonderful. He amazes me. I think the world of him. Of course, I never expected him to be perfect. I'd love him and be proud of him no matter what.
But, oh, how I wanted to be the perfect mother.
Some days I was a good mother. Some days I was a fair-to-middling mother. To be honest, some days I was a pretty bad mother. On no days was I ever a perfect mother. I've beaten myself up about that. I've cried and lamented and wished I could go back and change things. Because, although I never expected my son to be a perfect child, I did expect myself to be a perfect mother--or darn close, anyway. And, of course, I failed.
Yet this fine man is my son--the child I carried in my womb for nine months, the baby I birthed, the boy I nurtured. He's not perfect, but he doesn't have to be perfect to be wonderful.
And if that goes for kids, maybe--just maybe--it goes for moms, too.
What do you think?