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| TINY HANDPRINTS |
| Tiny handprints grow so fast Their awkward groping soon will clasp A ball, a book, a sweetheart's hand A diploma, briefcase, wedding band. Tiny handprints grow so strong It doesn't take them very long To snap a shirt, to paint, to draw To labor hard, to drive a car. Tiny handprints grow to be A person that is quite unique A wonderful mix of so many things With his own feelings, thoughts and dreams. Tiny handprints grow to rely On his parents to bring him up just right His parents pray that when he's grown He'll say their job has been well done. Tiny handprints are ours to love The sweetest gift from God above A miracle that never is surpassed How sad they grow up way too fast. |
| - Author Unknown |
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A few months ago, when I was picking up the children at school, another mother I knew well rushed up to me. Emily was fuming with indignation.
"Do you know what you and I are?" she demanded. Before I could answer - and I didn't really have one handy - she blurted out the reason for her question. It seemed she had just returned from renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office. Asked by the woman recorder to state her "occupation," Emily had hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. "What I mean is," explained the recorder, "Do you have a job, or are you just a ......?"
"Of course I have a job," snapped Emily. "I'm a mother."
"We don't list 'mother' as an occupation...'housewife' covers it," said the recorder emphatically.
I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high-sounding title, like "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar "And what is your occupation?" she probed.
What made me say it, I do not know. The words simply popped out. "I'm....a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."
The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in mid-air, and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pompous pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire. "Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"
Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research (what mother doesn't?) in the laboratory and in the field (normally I would have said indoors and out). I'm working for my Masters (the whole darned family) and already have four credits (all daughters).
Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are in satisfaction rather than just money."
There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.
As I drove into our driveway buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants---age 13, 7, and 3. And upstairs, I could hear our new experimental model (six months) in the child-development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.
I felt triumphant. I had scored a beat on bureaucracy. And I had gone down on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another......"
Home...what a glorious career.
Especially when there's a title on the door.
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When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you hang my first
painting on the refrigerator, and I wanted to paint another one.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you feed a stray cat,
and I thought it was good to be kind to animals.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make my favorite
cake for me, and I knew that little things are special things.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I heard you say a prayer, and
I believed there is a God I could always talk to.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I felt you kiss me good night,
and I felt loved.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw tears come from your eyes,
and I learned that sometimes things hurt, but it's all right to cry.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw that you cared and I wanted
to be everything that I could be.
When you thought I wasn't looking, I looked ... and wanted to say
thanks for all the things I saw when you thought I wasn't looking.
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