Where the End Met the Beginning

A Little Bragging Please First ENG 101 Essay

The topic: 3 pages on a photograph that has significance in the student's life
The photo I chose: the 1st sonogram of my son

The rough draft of my first English 101 essay was due 2 weeks ago. We got them back last Friday with the teacher's comments and edit marks. I am very proud to say that the only thing he took out was a comma and a word that was just a typo. Not only that, but his main comment was, "You end with the word simple twice, but let me say that your story is anything but simple. This is a wonderful tale that is filled with genuine and heartfelt sentiment. This is as close to a flawless draft as any I have ever read. Excellent job". When I read this I was floored! I like to think I am a good writer, but this was one of the best compliments ever. Would you like to see why he said this? Well, the paper is below. I won't be posting everything I ever turn in, but this is about my son's first photograph, and I'd like to share it. Hope it touches you in some way...


Where the End Met the Beginning

Perhaps the single most important photograph taken in my, then 21 years of life, this simple black and white image represents a lifelong intuitive dream come true. With each glance at the picture, a rush of pure love flows through me. That certain, unmistakable piercing in my heart, takes me back to that life altering moment. In observing the 4x6 still, my mind travels to the day that brought physical evidence to the drastic change I was in the midst of. Measure marks and statistics line the right side. “MILLER, TARA,” date and time and more technical markings run along the top. What is memorable, however, is the blurry triangle of life nestled in a dark abyss.

Surrounded by a thin black metal frame, the first photograph of my son stands atop my desk. Within the frame, perfectly suited for this picture, a border of white compliments the black square that surrounds the focal point of this memory. It is a faint image that most people can’t make out. One that I wasn’t sure I was seeing correctly, laying there in the doctor’s office over three years ago. Deep within the grain of grey lays a little boy’s head and body. The shape is so clear to me now; a defined facial structure and a round belly with two appendages that almost look like arms. Wide black circles where eyes would eventually shine and a smile, I was sure, that could light up a room. This is the personification of every intense emotion I’d felt the four months prior to my ultrasound.

Among a sea of family memories, the barely noticeable face of a four month old fetus shines though. Pictures of the beach and holiday get-togethers bring fond memories; however they don’t hold the same utterly consuming sense of purpose as the first sonogram image of my child. This small symbol of infinite opportunity is a constant reminder of how fragile my son is; how fragile we all are. It is in place on my desk to keep that knowledge constantly visible. Though the love never hides behind errands and rules, it is all too easy to let the overflowing emotion of being a mother fade out during everyday routines. Being able to see his face, before it was recognizable, before there were dos and don’ts floating around in his mind, keeps me grounded. It allows me take a step back and realize that there is a bigger picture; to see that whatever roadblock life has thrown on my path, it too shall pass. In the cloudy view of a new life, I see a vessel of pure possibility, my biggest responsibility.

As I lay in the reclining doctor’s office chair on January 23, 2006, I thought about the last several years of my life that had led up to this moment. It did not happen how I had expected, but incredible life changes rarely do. I had always known deep in my heart that I would be a mother. Although the moment came unexpectedly and during the worst time of my life, it was here and there was no going back to what things were before. Waiting for the technician to come into the room, my mother and sister sat with me and we talked a bit about what lay ahead. What was said exactly escapes my mind, but the thoughts going through my head ring as clear today as they did then. I was looking at these two woman who’d been there for me my whole life and who were now standing by my side, when I needed them most, but they weren’t who should have been there. Fighting back tears I wished my child’s father could be with me that day, however much an impossibility it was. Not willing to let the hardships that led me here override the connection I felt to my supporters, I giggled at the tears rolling down my mother’s checks and let my eyes swallow the one’s trying to travel down mine.

With a cold jelly-like substance smeared across my stomach and one arm beneath my head, I breathed in deeply and slowing. This was it; the moment that would make this all real. Two months earlier, the nurse’s words “You’re pregnant” had changed my life drastically. I’d given it all up, every last bad habit, with the sound of those three syllables, but on this day the preparations and changes would be brought to life on the small grey screen in front of me. The tall woman in scrubs smelled like faint roses and had a gentile touch as she rolled the transducer over the small swell of my abdomen. A heartbeat, a head, a body, legs, arms and… “Do you want to know the sex of the baby?” she asked. With my answer, a penis was pointed out and a sigh of complete relief washed over the small room. Having dreamt about girls for months, I was sure the ultrasound would reveal a different outcome, but I was hoping for a boy and was filled with delight to be given that answer.

Several pictures were recorded and different body parts were discussed as I held in the tears and my mother let them go without any restraint. Though my face was void of salty evidence, I was overwhelmed at the sight of my baby boy on that screen. My entire being was flowing with wildly thriving emotions that I’d never felt; emotions for this tiny person who was ultimately saving my life. Being given the gift that is parenthood had changed me in just a few short months, and I knew it was only the beginning. Leaving behind the person I was before my pregnancy wasn’t hard. I’d left so many pieces of myself behind for a lot less in the past. This time, however, it was for the sake of something beyond the physical world as we know it. It was, and still is, for the sake of creating a life and the road taken after his birth is what would present the biggest challenge.

Able to feel him inside of me in a different way after the ultrasound, I had realized that I was not just carrying a fragile person, but something so much more. Cradled inside my body was a new soul; a new living, breathing soul capable of anything. It would be my main purpose in life to guide this being through his time on Earth. All my past experiences, successes and failures, all my predisposed judgment and all the things I was blind to, would come out in my parenting. With that realization, fear suddenly became ever present in the package of emotions I was now carrying around. This person, untainted then, will grow, think, feel, love, hate, live and, eventually, die. He, like every other human, was born with no inhabitations or judgment, no idea of how his new world would work. Every time I look at the picture sitting in a simple frame, on my simple desk, I take a step outside myself to remember that this life is anything but simple and I allow myself, and my son, to make mistakes and to learn great lessons from them all.

It's All Piling Up

The dates in between blog entries; the dirty clothes in the laundry basket; homework; sleepless nights - it's all piling up. I don't think I've blogged since the end of the first week of school, let alone had time for anything else. My apartment is a mess and I need to do laundry desperately! I have been doing my homework as last minute as humanly possible. I did a 1000 word essay the other day at 11pm the night before it was due. Hopefully it turned out as good as I though it sounded at the time. I still haven't found out if I will be getting a loan, because I've gotten wrong info from the financial aid office every time I've gone in there. Hopefully I will, because a lap top really would make my life 100 times easier! Poor Braydon is getting tired of coloring or watching a movie while I do my homework and is protesting against homework by refusing to play alone. The college success class I am dreading starts tomorrow. Hopefully I'll learn a trick for getting things done with a 3 year old protesting my every move.... but I doubt it!

End of the Week, Beginning of English and Fear

This morning as I rushed to get ready for my first English 101 class, Braydon announced that he was not going to school today. Shocked, I stopped and picked him, then asked why. "I'm scared to leave you and I will cry at school today!" What? My fearless student has started to miss me when I'm not around. Touched and startled by the sudden change of heart I simply reminded him of the fun he's had and how nice the teachers and other children are. He was unconvinced, but got ready anyway. A million thoughts raced through my head. That teacher who sounds a little less than compassionate - was she too stern with him? The boy that accidentally kicked Bray when he was in front of his swing - was he actually a bully? The girl who had to hold his hand on the snow cone trip - Bray thought they were friends, but was she mean to him?

I had to shake it off. I know it is just the protective side of mommy that wants to analyze each little incident and make sure no one is any way hurting my child. The teacher are great and Bray said he likes all the kids. But I can't help but think of all the horror that could be. I guess this is the separation anxiety that every child goes through. He just happened to start and the end of the week, rather than the beginning of the first day.

As it turns out, there was no reason to rush this morning. I pulled into the parking lot, checked my schedule to see where the Eng101 class room is, and realized that I had been looking at the wrong class when I saw "Friday at 10:00am". Maybe if there was air conditioning in my car, it wouldn't have been a huge deal, but class isn't actually until 12:20. I was looking at something that doesn't start until September. Braydon was relieved not to have to go to school just then. Hopefully he gets over his fear before it's time to really leave. He will be at school in just enough time to play outside, take a nap and eat a snack. Nap time. Damn it.

In Your Face Nap Time

Very early tonight, Braydon asked me for a bath. The rest of the nights this week he has hid under the table when the dreaded words "It's bath time" fell out of my mouth. He has stood in the tub, hands crossed, face to the tiled wall, in protest of the nightly event. He has dumped handfuls of water at a time on the floor, splashed me during my attempts to wash him, shouted how much of a bad mommy I was being by cleaning him and thrown countless bath toys at me. This is not his typical bath routine, mind you. Before school started we went deep sea diving, mermaid searching and sea shell collecting during baths. But the long nap in the middle of the day has changed our nights drastically.

Shortly after the bath, Braydon came to me with lotion on his hands, asking me to rub it in. The rest of the nights this week he has tried to push my hands away when I tried to rub in the lotion. He has ran and hid in between the wall and the TV, where he knows very well he is not allowed to be. He steped into his pajamas, even doing most of it himself, tonight, instead of the hide-n-seek game he has attempted to play the first three days of this week.

Before I even knew what I was going to cook, Braydon asked me for dinner. The rest of the nights this week he has pushed his plate as far into the middle of the table as he could reach with his tiny arms. He has told me that he doesn't like the food, he's full, or simply "I'm not going to eat". Before school started, he would at least try food, although I can not blame this entirely on the new change because I hear three year old kids are extremely picky eaters. Still, tonight, he ate his dinner and brushed his teeth afterward - another nightly routine he has routinely protested this week.

It is only 7:15 and my son, the bed time routine protester, is sleeping. He has not gone to bed before 9:30 in the last four days, despite his regular bedtime being 8:00, which he is certainly used to by now. I did not have to tell him to do anything, at all. I did not put him to sleep tonight. Tonight, he practically put himself to bed, in a calm and accepting way. Although I have been pulling my hair out for the last 3-4 nights and thinking that this was the beginning to a nightmare, it is clear that situations can change in an instant... just like our beautiful children.

Beauty, A Kick in the Face and An Exposed Personality

After nearly a week in school, Bray and I are trying to settle into the new routines. As I mentioned in the post about our first day, we both love school so far. To date, I've had Elements of Intercultural Communication, Intro to Art History and Mythology. All extremely interesting classes which seem as though they will not only educate me on the subject matter, but help me better understand myself and my own outlook on the world. This of course, is exactly what I am hoping to do. As a writer, it is my goal during my college career to open my mind to the infinite possibilities of the universe and obtain knowledge of the world around me. This will make me a better writer, a better person and hopefully, a better mother.

The communications class so far, has been about getting to know our classmates and has made us aware of the judgement we use in making first impressions. Homework has consisted of reading the first two chapters, and after reviewing chapter 1 in class yesterday, it is clear that I went too far in my note taking. Four pages of notes and written answers to the chapter's review exercise proved to be overkill when all that was required in class Wednesday was to share one or two sentences of what we could remember. When I read the second chapter (due Monday), I'll take in down a notch or two. After 7 years of lacking structured education, it is hard to know what is expected.

Art History is awesome. We've learned a few basics, watched a clip of a Flash Mob (look it up... it's amazing!), and caught a glimpse into the meaning of art. I always just say that art is everything and everything is art; something I am sure I picked up from my father, who is an incredible artist . Although I still believe it to be true and that the word "art" has infinite definitions, I like the way our instructor defined the subject. He said, "Art is expression that is experienced". While a little more narrow that my personal definition, I can agree. Our first assignment is to find something that we consider beautiful or art, not necessarily a typical art piece, and describe in one page. Simple enough right? Considering that I am stunned, daily, by the mass amount of beauty that surrounds us, I am having a hard time pin pointing what to write about. I look up; I see white whimsical clusters containing the purest nectar of life, waiting until they are too full to keep hold of the drops intended to sustain life. I look down as the sun light bounces off thousands of tiny rock particles, reminding me how fragile even the hardest parts of our souls are. Ahead in the distance the ocean water genitally rolls to shore, colliding with glistening sand, bringing with it peace and unity, reminding me of the depths of uncertainty. Of course, I could describe a piece of blown glass, the incredible Aurora Boreas, the shocking 3D sidewalk art of Julian Beever or Kurt Wenner, the cliff homes of Santorini, The Louvre.... the list goes on and on and on, and I'm not sure where to stop, or begin.

In Mythology, we will obviously learn of Gods and Goddesses, Heroes and epic tragedies; however these first two classes (and I expect more to come) have revolved around us, the students. We have taken a personality quiz, which revealed me to be an idealist, and had to write a mad-lib style mythical identity. Mine read "I am Tara, protector of Earth. I come from the depths of the ocean and travel to the infinite abyss." I'm sure I could have dug deeper and come up with something better, as did a fair amount of the students in the class, but this is what spit out of me in the 3 minutes we had to work with. The words lingered in my mind that entire Tuesday. "I am Tara, the undefined mother of an untainted soul. I come from the grips of Dionysus and travel the path of the un-named Goddess within."

Braydon has absolutely loved school and everything about it. Monday he was devastated when it was time to go and just HAD TO show me everything about the class and the playground before he could even think about going home. Tuesday I could hear him crying in my heart, and when I walked through the preschool door, he was sobbing on a chair with an ice pack to his cheek. Apparently Braydon was standing in front of the swings, not realizing that he was supposed to move, and another little boy came down from his flight, accidentally kicking my baby in the face! After kisses and comfort, we had to talk about forgiveness. I didn't need to cover clearing the runway because the teacher finished that lesson up as I arrived that afternoon. Wednesday all the kids took a campus walk and got snow cones. Braydon hasn't stopped talking about the beautiful little girl whose hand he held on the walk, but whose name he can not remember. Today seemed to be an uneventful day, with only an hour and a half in class, but he was happy when I picked him up. Bedtime on the other hand, has been a miniature tragedy in itself. Nap time is really screwing up my child's perfect bed time routine. Today I picked him right before this dreaded hour and a half of sleep filled misery and have high hopes for a smooth night. Tomorrow will be my first day in English class and Bray will be in his class a little earlier than normal, so he will get to experience a few new things as well. What, exactly, we shall hear about early afternoon (before nap time) when I come to bring my son home for our first "weekend".

The First Day of School

Tears running down faces, confused screams of fear and agony, genital promises of return and brave new teachers. This is what you typically expect during the first day of preschool, but when Braydon and I slowly opened the heavy door separating the beginning of education from the continuation of it, we steeped into an unexpectedly happy and exciting world.

Braydon was eager to get started. After all, this was finally the day mom had been talking about for months. I asked him to wait while I signed him in so we could say a proper goodbye. He listened and, already, the dread I felt on the drive over started to disappear. As he lightly touched my leg, I situated the sign in process and asked the front desk person a few questions. As soon as the preschool director came around the corner and asked Braydon if he was ready to start school, he looked up at me bright eyed and full of wonder, waiting for a sign that it was OK to go. Without hesitation, as soon as I said "go ahead," he was off. I managed to get a hug and a kiss after I was finished at the front desk and then headed out for the beginning of my own adventure.

Elements of Intercultural Communication was to be the first class of my college education. May as well start with the hardest sounding class, right? In my previous job (well, the last one for which I actually worked in an office and cared about at the same time) I was responsible for a great deal of communications with businesses overseas. I've witnessed first hand the difficulty you can face during intercultural communication if you have little knowledge of the other culture. I have also seen how well you can work with someone of a completely different background and language if you both exhibit patience, understanding and a desire to learn about each other. As soon as I saw this class on the list of options for a certain portion of my required credits, I knew I had to take it. The teacher is amazing. Our first class was simple, as is generally expected, but I can see a depth to this woman, who has actually stood in the midst of other cultures and speaks an undetermined amount of different languages (we've heard a remark in Cantonese and I am sure there will be more). A great start to a day I've been looking forward to for years.

Forty-five minutes absorbing the excruciating sun of Arizona was not the happiest point of my day, but I was on a college campus watching myself do something that I never thought I'd actually get around to doing. I couldn't have been happier. The unbearable heat that I usually complain about suddenly seemed tolerable.

Right around the corner from my first class was the Intro to Art History class I'd signed up for. I have always been interested in art, of all mediums, but have never had the time or a strong enough desire to actually focus on learning about it. The teacher of this class is young and an artist himself. Though he seemed a bit nervous speaking in front of the class, he has experience and clearly knows what he's doing there. I'm interested to learn more about the subject, as well as our instructor, but a bit nervous about the actual drawing we will apparently be doing. Interest I have, skill, however, I lack.

When I picked Braydon up after the art class, he was eating a snack and it was a huge struggle to get him to actually leave school. Aside from the extreme failure that was his bedtime routine that night, Braydon did very well with school. He loved it and hasn't stopped asking about going back. It'll take a while to get him used to the idea of going, then coming home, then GOING TO SLEEP, and starting all over again the next day. So far, I'm ecstatic that he wasn't terrified of leaving me in the morning and that he seems to be soaking up and enjoying the nectar that is education.

A Week of Preperation

In the last week, I have been non-stop in my quest to prepare for the big day. With a to-do list still staring at me from my bulletin board, it still feels like school is a million days away, when in actuality, tomorrow marks the start of our educational leap.

Saturday, August 15th: The iStartSmart orientation is a new requirement for first year community college students in Maricopa County. The program is designed to prepare new students for school and equip them with organizational methods needed to stay on track in order to graduate. You start out with an online orientation, which I finished weeks ago. The next step is the in person orientation with a group of new students, a director and a few campus ambassadors. At this meeting, we learned about tutoring, academic advisement, clubs/organizations, etc. Nothing I didn't already read about online, still it was nice to meet some people I'd be attending school with. Starting in September I will be attending the third and final step of this program, in the form of a required college success course. The class is five weeks, once a week and one credit. The course description makes me angry. I am 25 years old and have a lot of real work experience. I believe I've mentioned this before, but I got my first job at 13 and have taken care of myself for a long time. In the twelve years I've been employed, I've worked in several different industries, gathering new lessons and talents along the way and leaving each job with a higher knowledge and self expectation than when I started. I see going to school as another new experience and will face it with the same openness that I have stared each new chapter in my life with. However, this required class will cover things I have already acquired, such as time management, organization skills and note taking tips. While I am infuriated by the apparent waste of time and money, I am hopeful that I will leave that room at the end of the five weeks with at least one bit of new information. With a graduation rate of only 14%, the school certainly needs to take some steps in helping students reach their goals.

Sunday I cleaned and re-organizing my apartment (specifically mine and my son's rooms). I'm overwhelmed and this, in addition to making lists, helps me stay focused on what I am working towards.

Monday the 17th, marked my third attempt to get Bray officially enrolled in preschool. The woman I'd been speaking to had given me a whole list of wrong information and was the cause of my having to come down to the school two too many times to do something that should have been done long ago. This time, I called ahead of time to make sure that the director of the preschool was there. I was told by the "other woman" that I couldn't pay the registration fee and receive the forms unless she was present. I was told this in person, when I came to the school to do it, under the advisement of said woman. When I called, the director, a very nice and professional woman, informed me that I do not pay her. Instead I go to the business center and make the payment; something I could have done the last time I was there. Angry and overwhelmed I came in that afternoon and got everything taken care of. I decided to just let it go. What was done, was done and no amount of complaining would change that. Although, I did very nicely let the director know that I was given wrong information on several occasions and that I think perhaps the woman I spoke to was unsure of what needed to be said to the parents. I felt bad, but I had to say something in order to allow myslef to just get over the frustration. It worked.

Tuesday I filled out forms and spent some good quality time playing with my son. There will be so little of it starting tomorrow.

Wednesday I had a parents orientation for the preschool at 2pm. I was told not to bring my son unless absolutely necessary, so I arranged for my sister to watch him for a bit. She lives in an apartment complex in the heart of the ASU area in Tempe. This was the day, apparently, that all the out-of-state freshmen were arriving with there parents and suitcases, and all the on campus residents were moving into their dorms. If you have ever lived or been in a college town on a day like this, you know that the streets and sidewalks are flooded with people. It took me 15 whole minutes to drive one mile. I was glad I was going to a community college near my home and not here. Anywhere, but here. I finally dropped my son off at 5 minutes to 2pm. I was 20 minutes away from where I needed to be. After I made my way out of the sea of college students and just accepted the fact that I was going to be late, I started wondering how vastly different my life would be if I'd gone to a university right out of high school instead of waiting so long. For a brief moment I thought I'd be better off now, but I'd never have met Braydon's father - that I am certain of. Which means I wouldn't be Braydon's mother and no amount of success would be worth that. Changing one step on your life's path can alter the future in a huge way. I couldn't give this thought of "what if" another second of my precious time.

Thursday I got my books! Friday I took my sister to get her books. All weekend I've been cleaning and preparing for what tomorrow morning will bring. I am nervous, excited, scared and happy all at the same time, and I'm loving every second of it.