True life is lived when tiny changes occur.
– Leo Tolstoy, Russian novelist and short story writer
Prior to Jacob's 8th grade promotion ceremony last night, all week I had been adrift in reminiscing. I remembered my own 8th grade graduation as I rejoiced and also felt bittersweet about his minor rite of passage, with the swift feet of time luring him away from me. I couldn't find any photos of my graduation, but I distinctly remembered details so vivid it startled me. My Auntie Leonora, my mom’s sister-in-law, sewed my maxi dress of tiny blue flowers against a cream background, with the bodice trimmed with lace and petite luminous blue buttons. June 8, 1976. As we were getting ready for the event after dinner, my mother made her way to the bathroom with a fish bone stuck in her throat. I ran down the hallway, panicked that she was choking to death. She was fine after coughing up the bone, but I realized at that moment how much she meant to me – despite our cultural and generational differences at the time. My mother meted out tough love but only because she wanted me to work hard and succeed.
To read the rest of the blog, go to The Dress at 50 or click here.