When Being There Matters

“You can ride with us to the awards ceremony,” my daughter Madi told me. She would pick up my wife, Lori, and sit together to watch our 2nd-grade granddaughter, Emmie, receive several achievement awards. 

“But what about Eli?” I asked. Eli, a 6th grader, was at another school, and his and Emmie’s ceremonies were close in time but miles apart.

 The day before, Lori and I had taken Eli and Emmie out to eat to celebrate the end of the school year. “Whose going to be at my school’s award ceremony?” Eli asked.  

“I’m going to Eli’s assembly,” I told Lori the next morning. “Emmie has you and Madi there for hers. And I can check Eli out after his assembly.” 

Sitting in the bleachers, I couldn’t find him at first. My eyes roved up and down each row, looking for my grandson. 

I tried to compare this awards ceremony to mine in the 1960s and 70s and drew a blank. My older brother later reminded me we didn’t have much of an awards ceremony in those days. “In grade school, we’d all sit on the floor, and the superintendent would only recognize those who made the superintendent’s honor roll, and that was it.” 

“No wonder I don’t remember,” I said. “I don’t think I ever made the superintendent’s honor roll.”

I did make the honor roll, but not consistently. I ambled through secondary school, an average to good student, certainly not outstanding. It wasn’t until I went to college that I made a genuine effort to excel. I was fortunate to have been accepted into Baylor University. 

Much of our educational success is more a result of our efforts than our natural ability. It has been my observation, after years in education, that rarely is someone naturally excellent in an academic area. It takes work and practice. 

Professor Brian Cox, who holds a doctorate in high-energy particle physics and teaches physics at the University of Manchester in the U.K., said in an interview on high performance that when he transitioned from a career in music to academia, he earned a “D” in math. People seem shocked to hear that a physics professor received such a low mark in math. “Nothing is easy,” he said. “it requires practice, and it requires attention to detail, as well, (as to) take responsibility for getting it right.” When asked when he first realized that concept, he chuckled and said it was when he got a “D” in math.

I was afraid I would fail in college, so I worked at it. Most of us have a natural affinity for certain subjects, such as math, literature, or mechanics. While I was drawn to literature and classical languages, I had to practice to become proficient in them. 

Beneath the drive to achieve was the awareness that someone cared about me enough to encourage me. My parents did that for me, and although Dad predicted I would be back home after one semester, he provided me with the opportunity for a college education. And whether he knew it or not, his prediction of my failure motivated me to try all the more. That may be why he said it. Whichever the case, I knew for certain he cared. His parting words to me at the beginning of that first year in college were, “We’re always just a phone call away.”

Sitting in the bleachers trying to find my grandson at a 6th-grade assembly, I remembered that part about caring. When I finally found Eli, I could see his eyes were roaming the bleachers for someone, too.  

And when our eyes locked, we both smiled in silent recognition. 

I doubt that Eli would admit to it, and he may as yet not be self-aware, but I believe he was looking for that special someone to acknowledge that he and his efforts mattered.

And they do to everyone in his family.

I’m grateful to have been the one there that day to remind him.