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A Lesson from My Son
By Kathleen Beaulieu
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I was one of those lucky children for whom learning came easy. So,
when I became a parent, I naturally assumed that if I read to both of my
children faithfully and offered them fun, educational playtimes, they
would follow in my footsteps. They, too, would learn, retain materials and
receive all As as I had done.
Amanda, my first child, was right on target. She learned quickly and
earned good grades. However, even though I practiced the same methods with
my second child, Eric, I sensed that life would be a challenge, not only
for his teachers, but for Eric and myself personally.
I did my part for this sweet, loving youngster who was never a discipline
problem for anyone. I made sure his homework was completed each night,
kept in touch with his teachers, and enrolled him in every assistance
program the school had to offer. But, no matter how hard he struggled,
report cards with Cs were met with frustration and tears. I could see his
discouragement and feared he would lose all interest in learning. Soon I
doubted myself.
Where had I failed my son? I wondered. Why couldn't I motivate him to help
him succeed? I felt if he didn't excel in school, he would be unable to
create a life of his own or support himself – and perhaps a family
someday.
Eric was a sixteen-year-old blonde when my eyes were opened. We were
sitting in the living room when the phone rang; a message that my father
had suffered a massive heart attack and died at age seventy-nine.
"Papa," as Eric had called him, had been such a part of my little boy's
life during his first five years. Since my husband worked nights and slept
days, it was Papa who took him for haircuts, ice cream and played baseball
with him during those earlier times. Papa was his number-one pal.
When my father left and moved back to the town where he grew up, Eric was
lost without him. But time healed those wounds. Gradually, he came to
understand his grandfather's need for old friends and roots of the past.
For Eric, phone calls and visits from the grandfather he loved became a
way of life. And his Papa never forgot him.
When we entered the funeral parlor, I stood in the doorway and looked at
my father, so still, so unlike the man I knew. My children were on either
side of me, and I felt Eric take my hand as we walked up to his
grandfather. We shared our moments together then took our places on the
side of the room as hundreds of friends filed by. Each person shared
sympathies and memories of my father's life. Others just touched my hand
and walked away.
Suddenly, I realized Eric wasn't beside me. I turned to look around the
room and noticed him near the entranceway helping the elderly in need of
assistance with the stairs or the door. Strangers all, some with walkers,
others with canes, many simply learning on his arm as he led them to his
grandfather to pay their last respects.
Later that evening the funeral director mentioned to me that one more
pallbearer was needed. Eric immediately said, "Please Sir, may I help?"
The director suggested he might prefer to stay with his sister and myself.
Eric shook his head. "My papa carried me when I was little," he said. "Now
it's my turn to carry him." When I heard those words I started to cry. I
felt as though I could never stop.
From that moment on, I knew I would never berate my son for imperfect
grades. Never again would I expect him to be someone I had created in my
own mind, because that individual I envisioned was nowhere near the fine
person my son had become. His compassion, caring and love were the gifts
God had blessed him with. No book could have taught him these things. No
degree framed behind glass would ever convey to the world the qualities
Eric possessed.
He is now twenty years old and continues to spread his kindness, his sense
of humor and compassion for his fellow man wherever he goes. Today I ask
myself, What difference do science and math grades make? When a young man
does the best he can, he deserves an "A" from the heart.
Reprinted by permission of Kathleen
Beaulieu © 1997, from A 5th Portion of Chicken Soup for the Soul by Jack
Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen.
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