A Mom's Wish

I’m not sure how many years she has been teaching high school education classes to aspiring future teachers, but I am thankful to have met her at open house at the beginning of this school year where her first words to me were “You must be Bull’s mom.”  I smiled, replied “Yes”, told her how much my Hannah loves her as a teacher, and proceeded to sit down at the small roundtable with the other parents as she shared what the coming school year would hold for her intern students.

Every new year brings new teachers and new experiences – at school and at church.  When the new school year starts, we also have what is called “Promotion Sunday” at church where all the students move up to their new grade level class in Sunday School.  Without fail, each year I say the same words to Hannah - “It doesn’t matter which teacher you have this year.  My only wish as your mother is that they share God’s love with you, but more importantly, that they show you that same love AND that they love you genuinely.”  As parents, the teenage world is often complex and perplexing to us.  I’m all in favor of the old adage: It takes a village to raise a child.

While I hope and expect each year for such relationships at church and am thankful for the sweet ladies who love Hannah and are leaving an imprint on her heart, I was pleasantly surprised to find it in an unexpected place - at school in the form of Ms. Rolanda Wilkins.

Ms. Wilkins is a confidant for students whenever needed.  She has endearing nick names for them – all of which fit them to a “T”.  She has been asked by students if she has any biological children of her own and her response is, “You are all my children.”  In turn, they refer to her as Mama Wilkins. She texts them on their birthday - and sometimes, even has special celebrations for them.  She commutes from Houston every day to teach and love her students at Kingwood Park High School. 

Hannah knew of Ms. Wilkins' love of lavender, so she bought her a lavender scented candle for Christmas.  Last night I was putting some clothes away in Hannah’s room while she was at work. As I looked down, I saw the candle sitting on the floor wrapped in cellophane tied with a pretty ribbon.  I turned the gift name tag around and it read “To: Mom, From: Bull.”  As my heart was wrenched with emotional pain, I sat down on her bed and felt the tears welling up.  The word Mom on the name tag made my heart ache and I wondered how she could call someone else Mom.  After all, I am the one who gave birth to her and genetically it would be impossible that this woman of a different race could be my blonde hair, blue-eyed child’s mother.

But that’s the beauty of love, isn’t it?

Where there is a heart full of love, there isn’t an ounce of room to worry about race, genetics, physical or emotional descriptions.  They mean nothing. 

Mama Wilkins, or Mom for short, I’m thankful you have fulfilled my wish and I know the love you give, even if only during the high school years, will last a lifetime.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being a part of our village.

With Love,

Bull’s Other Mom