I don't do a lot of planning when it comes to speaking in front of the preschool families. I used to meticulously plan out every word because aside from crawling under the pulpit (which is what I really wanted to do) it was the best thing I knew how to do to get it right. I was not a fan of public speaking. I'm still not a fan of public speaking, but it's becoming easier. So now, instead of writing out every word, I make a bulleted list.
This year I decided to share the end of the year writing that Brian's teacher sent home with the group. I had it on my list of things to say, and for some reason, I prefaced it with something like this...
"My son, Brian graduated from Kindergarten last week. Some of you know that Brian is a large part of the reason why I am at St. Pats. Brian has hearing loss, he was born with it, and after he was born I quit my full time teaching job so that I could make countless trips to Children's hospital. Not long after, I ended up taking this position where I had the flexibility to take care of my son and continue to do what I love to do. His teacher sent home this end of the year writing, and I wanted to share it with you all tonight."
I read the words that she had sent home (adapted a little to fit our situation) and I made it through without crying. After I finished and as I retreated to the pew to listen to Fr. Jeff's words, the hugeness of what I had just said hit me.
When I came to St. Pats, Brian was 9 months old. We were terrified. We had no idea what his hearing loss really meant or how it would impact our lives, or his life. And now, just 5 short years later, he has graduated from Kindergarten.
He's okay.
We're okay.
Although we think about his hearing loss and deal with the complications it brings daily, we also count our many blessings daily-the blessings that he has brought to our family with his sweet smile, his devious sense of humor, his overwhelming intelligence and his unbelievable ability to adapt and to overcome.
Congratulations, Brian. You have come so much farther than some would have expected. You have moved mountains and will continue to do so. We love you.
And in case you are wondering, the end of the year writing went something like this...
I
give you back your child; the same child you confidently entrusted to my care
last fall. I give you your child back pounds heavier, inches taller, months
wiser, more responsible, and more mature than before. Although your child would
have attained this growth in spite of me, it has been my happy privilege to
watch this personality unfold day by day and marvel at this splendid miracle of
development. I have thrilled at each new achievement, each new success, and
each new expansion of self. I give your child back reluctantly; for having
spent nine months together in the narrow confines of a classroom, we have grown
close. We have become a part of each other, and we shall always retain a little
of the other.
We have lived, loved, laughed, played, studied, learned, and enriched our lives together this year. I wish it could go on indefinitely, but I must give your child back to you. Take care of your child, for your child is precious.
Remember that I shall always be interested in your child and in your child's destiny...wherever your child goes, whatever your child does, and whoever your child becomes. Your child's joys and sorrows I'll be happy to share. We shall always be friends.
We have lived, loved, laughed, played, studied, learned, and enriched our lives together this year. I wish it could go on indefinitely, but I must give your child back to you. Take care of your child, for your child is precious.
Remember that I shall always be interested in your child and in your child's destiny...wherever your child goes, whatever your child does, and whoever your child becomes. Your child's joys and sorrows I'll be happy to share. We shall always be friends.