MaMa, the Cupcake-Maker

Earlier this week, I realized that I did not have a Mother’s Day project for the kiddos to do, I searched frantically in my black hole of a teacher’s closet, found something quite cutesy that would work, and quickly sent off the master copies to be printed for all my little darlings. When I returned to the room with my fresh copies in hand, the students were all gone to one of their special subjects (music, p.e., art, etc.). All except one. Which one? The one that needed to be there. The one God placed there to prick my heart with the stark reality of his mere decade-long life. As this precious bright-eyed little boy stood before me, I stopped and thought to myself, “Eeeee. Now, this project wouldn’t be fair for (fill-in-the-blank). He isn’t allowed to see his mom.” What’s more unfair than a silly little project is the sobering reality of his life, reflected in the following dialogue that occurred several months ago when he transferred to my classroom mid-year:
FLASHBACK
Student: “You know what, Miss Hill? I didn’t even have a birthday this year. My mom forgot my birthday. My dad kept calling and calling her, and she said, ‘Yeah, yeah, I’ll plan his party.’ But then she spent all the money for my party on her drugs again. I didn’t even get a tenth birthday party.”
Me (Miss Hill): “Well, when was your birthday, sweetheart?”
Student: “November 28th.”
Me: “We can celebrate your half birthday…on May 28th…. In class. At lunchtime, maybe.”
Student (as face lights up into a grin): “REALLY?!? Can you make me cupcakes? Like the chocolate ones with chocolate icing?”
Me: “Sure. That’ll be easy to do. Sounds good!”
Student: “Thank you, Miss Hill. You’re like the best teacher to me. None of my other teachers at my old school did what like a mom would do.”
My thoughts? The boy’s life is a wreck. His momma is strung out on drugs. And all he requires are some chocolate cupcakes?
Cupcakes, really!?
The mind of a ten-year-old never ceases to amaze me.
Our conversation that day ended in a hug, but the ripple effects of that conversation have lingered with me for hours, days, weeks, and now months. My student took a portion of my heart that day with him onto the playground amidst the swings and monkey bars. Well, he didn’t take it, per say. I gave it to him. I feel like he needs it more than I do.
So, where does that leave us now?
FLASH FORWARD
On May 28th, one of my little ones will have twenty-four chocolate cupcakes with chocolate icing for his 10 ½ birthday celebration. Some for his classmates. Some for his teachers. And some for him to take home to remember the fun-filled day.
 But, as I thought about it, I judged his request for cupcakes far too hastily. Cupcakes aren’t such a minor thing after all. They are far more than just sugar and chocolate.
They’re evidence.
Evidence of a presence.
The presence of someone who cares.
While the sweetness of those extra chocolately cupcakes may temporarily satisfy, what boyfriend really needs is the sustaining and enduring sweetness of a Cupcake-Maker. In short, what he needs is a Mother. Or at least, evidence. Evidence of a presence. Of someone who cares. Thankfully, I get the privilege to fill in the blank of that part of his life for this year.
While I don’t know what it’s like to walk in the shoes of my student, I do know it must be painful. The cries of a child for the presence of cupcakes at school can’t even compare to the silence and the absence of a mother at a birthday party at home.
I readily recognize the role I am chosen to play in this child’s life, and I will probably remember it for as long as I live.
What’s more, I’m reminded of the one who was chosen to play an integral part in my life – my mother.
While I could spend tons of time listing and spelling out all the many fantastic qualities of my mother, this year, I realize it’s not so much about what my mother says, does, where she goes, what she wears, or how she acts and reacts that makes her special. Her presence speaks so much louder than her attributes. With that, I simply want to thank you, MaMa, for simply being.  Your presence alone has shaped me more than either of us will ever know. I will treasure you for as long as I live.

p.s.  Thank you, Mom, for all the cupcakes.