Of Trimester Grades, My Grandmother and Time …


“Fula granmothers, Gambia, 2010”

The morning second trimester grades came alive on power school for both students and parents to see I missed our youngest daughter’s call. I had been praying.

I called her back on completing my meditation.

She was not pleased with the results, needed to talk, but her break was over and she needed to head to class.

I went downstairs to my computer in the study, logged into power school and viewed our youngest daughter’s grades. Having earned above a “B” average, but not an “A,” I recognized the root of her angst.

I crafted a text.

You are not your grades. Giving your personal best matters most and I observed you give that and more this last grading period.

This is a moment in time, one moment in time. You are a high school freshman, have lived on the planet for barely 15 years. Give yourself time.

We love you, your father and I, very much. And we are so proud.

Remember, personal best is what counts. And you gave that.”


On how many occasions have, and do I measure myself by conventional standards, that can and do not see the whole person or the all of what one is giving?

I could have used words like that countless times from my mother.

I imagine that she needed them even more times than I during her life.

Had I been her mother, I would have given her them.

I loved my maternal grandmother, my mother’s mother. She was kind and patient with me. Perhaps she attained these qualities and abilities from her experience of rearing six children.

I am sure she grew tremendously in experience, wisdom and emotional stamina during her eighty-three years on earth.

My mother died at seventy-six years of age.

Perhaps all she needed was more time.

Had I had that too, I would have granted it.

(to be continued … )



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