The Poet

A few weeks ago Sam was invited to participate in his school's academic fair on December 5. In my day we had science fairs, but now they've expanded to include math, spelling, poetry and art. Sam's teacher has told us a few times that he likes to read "with expression" so, needless to say, he was asked to recite a poem.

The week before Thanksgiving he was assigned his poem, "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere" by Longfellow. He practiced and memorized. I walked that line of offering him advice without hurting his feelings. Thanksgiving break came and went. The week before the fair his teacher added another page because she was afraid he wouldn't meet the time requirements. We practiced more. She told me how he could improve but that he need not memorize the poem - just focus on enunciation, pronunciation and delivery.

And then he got strep throat.

We got several doses of antibiotics in him, he wasn't feverish and he wanted to participate so we went. (Even though, poor guy, he got up once the night before, gulped a glass of water and promptly threw it up.) Spectators weren't allowed in the performance rooms so Jake and Abby and I colored and ran the halls of the high school while we waited. In the poetry category there were six schools competing, two or three kids per school, so you can imagine it didn't take too long.

I tried to pry information from Sam. "How did you do? On a scale of 1 to 10, what do you think? Did the teachers make any comments?" He offered very little information. After a quick lunch we went back for the awards ceremony.

Now ... I cry a lot. I cried this morning at a Folger's commercial. I cried at Star Wars In Concert. I cry when babies are baptized at church. I'll cry later this week during the kids' Christmas programs. Sometimes it doesn't even have to be my kids. Like the academic fair awards ceremony. For the first and second grade competitions all the participants got a purple ribbon and then first, second and third places were awarded.

When it was time for second grade poetry all the participants went on stage and received their purple ribbons. Then they announced the winners. Third place, Jane Doe from Main Street Elementary. Second place, Joseph from Rosemont (Sam's school and classmate). First place. Oh God. Could he have done well enough for first place?

I couldn't tell you if a boy or girl won. All I know is it wasn't Sam. He wasn't two steps off the stage before he - and then I - started crying.

I got Sam, Jake and Abby into the foyer and gave Sam a big hug. By this time he was sobbing. "All that for nothing. I practiced every day."

"Sam, I bet none of those kids had the week you had. I bet none of them have strep throat or have been to the doctor or were up this morning getting sick. But you were. A lot of kids and adults too would've said "I'm sick. I'm just not going to do it, but you showed up. If they gave a 'Courageous Kid' award, I know it would go to you."

We didn't talk about it anymore. But that night when I was laying in bed, I started to get a little bitter. Why did his teacher say he didn't have to memorize the poem? I saw the scorecard and they were judged on memorization. Why was he given a 900-word Longfellow poem? One of his competitors recited a one-page Shel Silverstein poem. (Today I will be reciting chapter 7 from Stephen Hawking's "Brief History of Time.")

To be honest, when Sam practiced with me, he needed improvement. But when the teachers were cheering and hugging and taking pictures with the winners, I wanted someone to pull him aside and hug him too. I wanted him to be excited. I so wanted to see his face when they announced his name.

Maybe he'll get to participate next year. Maybe I said some things right and he won't be discouraged. Maybe he'll practice more next time. Maybe I'll push more.

No matter what happens I'll probably cry.