[Note: this is actually an account of “Kid, Your Mom Secretly Made My Day.”]
Yesterday I had a parent conference with the mother of one of my sweethearts who has recently not been acting like himself. She’s one of those mothers whose expectations are (so) high, but she loves even harder. A few times during our talk, I was almost brought to tears by how powerfully she articulated the importance that her young, black teenage son make the right choices now so that he won’t have any regrets later in life. And this morning, I’m realizing even more how grateful I am for one comment in particular that she made: “When you’re in my house, *I’m* Mommy. But when you’re in this building, in this room, *she* is your mother. I don’t call them teachers. I call them your other mothers.”
Especially coming from this phenomenal women, I am so honored.