Graduation
I never graduated. It was a fleeting thought for me, something I was fighting for until, with a moment of lonliness, it was washed away from my hands like a bar of soap in a current of swiftwater. Now, I'm satisfied with just getting what I can so I can move forward and become successful in whatever way I possibly can.
Nineteen years ago, I was pressing my little ear to the taught belly of my mother as she was strolled down the hostpial hallway to give birth to the brown bundle of joy that was to be my baby sister, Heather. Eighteen years ago, I climbed into a car, trying desperately to comfort the baby I adored more than anything in the carseat while we went to the store, only comforted when she finally drifted to sleep. When we returned, I was the one to give the baby a sympathetic hug when we found that she had dropped her bottle and we had run it over in our departure. That same year I leaned over my baby sister, garbed in white knitted jumpsuiting, and gave her a kiss goodbye as my dad moved away, taking me with him. Sixteen years ago, I shared a doctor's office with Heather, wrapping my hands around the doctor's hand and ripping free the needle in which she was giving us our immunizations from my thigh. Then I moved to Mississippi, and my recollection of my baby sister was nothing more than a nostalgic dream.
Tomorrow I am 22 years old and my baby sister is graduating from high school this afternoon. I'm being invited and I'm absolutely thrilled, filled with enough pride to overflow. Yes, somewhere inside, I feel a tinge of regret. It was yesterday when I was pointed to the room of newly born children, not being able to decifer which was my brand new baby sister. Today, she walks down the isle of Laguna Beach High School, graduating, having already recieved scholarships. My baby sister is a baby no longer. She is grown up and has already proven that her opinion and lifestyle is ready to be considered adult, feminine and mature. She is her own and I'm so very proud of her.
July 2nd, I take my final exam for my GED. I, also, will be done.
Nineteen years ago, I was pressing my little ear to the taught belly of my mother as she was strolled down the hostpial hallway to give birth to the brown bundle of joy that was to be my baby sister, Heather. Eighteen years ago, I climbed into a car, trying desperately to comfort the baby I adored more than anything in the carseat while we went to the store, only comforted when she finally drifted to sleep. When we returned, I was the one to give the baby a sympathetic hug when we found that she had dropped her bottle and we had run it over in our departure. That same year I leaned over my baby sister, garbed in white knitted jumpsuiting, and gave her a kiss goodbye as my dad moved away, taking me with him. Sixteen years ago, I shared a doctor's office with Heather, wrapping my hands around the doctor's hand and ripping free the needle in which she was giving us our immunizations from my thigh. Then I moved to Mississippi, and my recollection of my baby sister was nothing more than a nostalgic dream.
Tomorrow I am 22 years old and my baby sister is graduating from high school this afternoon. I'm being invited and I'm absolutely thrilled, filled with enough pride to overflow. Yes, somewhere inside, I feel a tinge of regret. It was yesterday when I was pointed to the room of newly born children, not being able to decifer which was my brand new baby sister. Today, she walks down the isle of Laguna Beach High School, graduating, having already recieved scholarships. My baby sister is a baby no longer. She is grown up and has already proven that her opinion and lifestyle is ready to be considered adult, feminine and mature. She is her own and I'm so very proud of her.
July 2nd, I take my final exam for my GED. I, also, will be done.