"JUST TO HAVE A LAUGH AND SING A SONNNGG."
I love that Carol Burnett theme, and I've always had a sneaking suspicion that it is Betty Wright's "The CleanUp Woman's" blonde, blue-eyed first cousin. I would sing it loudly around closing time in the Gifts Department at SteinMart when I worked there many moons ago.
Well, now it applies to Malachi, and his Early College High School days. Tomorrow is graduation. He made it out with 58 out of 60 college credits, so no Associate's, but I'm not complaining. He did not go on that People To People trip, and I'm not sure I will ever stop regretting it. Lily's been dead nearly three years. I think he misses her as badly as I do. She slept beside him every night of her life.
Malachi is a hardworking kid. There really isn't too much more a mom could ask for in a son. He hasn't done any serious housework like ever, but that's pretty much my only complaint. He has managed to avoid most of the pitfalls available to a young person, though I'm certain he has taken a test-drive through a few of them.
Still, as a young black man, he has done well. His barber told me that when his peers get tired of looking unsavory, they check out what Malachi is wearing. Today when we were there getting haircuts in advance of tomorrow's graduation ceremony, I noticed that nearly every man under thirty and all the kids are sporting some version of his hairstyle (except his brother--he chose a "first day at Parris Island"-type cut). I told him he could have a Mohawk, but no.
People stop me in the street to tell me they are proud of Malachi. A young lady named Ashley said, "He doesn't know who I am," rather wistfully, I thought. "Yes he does," I told her with confidence. She's his classmate. It was weeks later when I thought to mention it. "Oh yeah, Ashley," he confirmed. "She's kinda shy. Why wouldn't I know her?"
That's what I like about my kid. He's willing to know everybody.
It's been fun raising Malachi. He did his homework unsupervised and brought back good grades. He is respectful. He's talented. Relatively self-contained, there were few meltdowns, and very little sass from him. I can recall Sunday afternoons playing Monopoly with Mali and William, and later in the evening, the sound of music emanating from their cramped bedroom, soothing me that everything was gonna be okay.
We have been through a lot since those sun-dusted days in the fishing cottage, some of it really, really bad, but we made it.
My sons will tell you, "We had a real childhood!" They mean it. I've always been the type of mom who would get outdoors with her children. I had sons, and I did not want to cause them to be athletically inept because I wouldn't get off the couch. It's paid off in an extra measure of good health, and sons who are pretty accomplished at sports. This is as close to baseball as Malachi will ever get, though.
My children have known suffering. They've had experience with lack, loss, and disappointment. I believe it has strengthened them immensely. They know who God is, and they know that "He may not come when you want Him, but He is always right on time!" They have prayed beside me when there was nothing left to do, and they have seen the LORD come through for us in supernatural ways.
There was the stormy time when they called me into the bedroom at Johnnie Evans. "Look mom," said William and Malachi, their voices just a bit uncertain. The two tall pines outside their window were bent low in a howling wind. Their very tops were touching the ground.
"What's gonna happen when the wind lets them up?" asked Malachi. He was about nine.
"Let's just pray."
"Thy will be done," was all we had time for.
LORD, whatever happens, make it quick , I thought, as visions of them whipping back from their prone position and splitting our 720 square foot fishin' cottage in half filled my mind. We stood watching, me in the middle with a hand on each of their shoulders, for ten or fifteen eternal seconds.
The wind stopped.
If you ever meet my sons, ask them and they will confirm: those two trees rose from the ground like two prostrate human beings bending upward from the waist, and did not touch our house.
I remember the boys looking at me, two pairs of enormous brown and blue eyes stretched wide in bewildered faces. I shrugged. They shrugged.
"God is good," they called out in unison, their backs to me. They sat down on their beds to look out of the window at the two trees, now gently swaying and flinging raindrops onto the panes. I staggered away to fling myself down beside my bed and thank Him, oh, how I thanked Him.
They're not very churchy, but my sons have real faith.
Recently, someone told me that my worldview was eloquently displayed in the demeanor of my children. I was mystified.
"You can tell what a person believes by the way their children act," said my friend.
I never thought of it like that.
Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.
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