The boy came home from work one day, and was getting ready to head out again to an evening class at his college. “Working and going to school is exhausting,” he said. “How did you do it?”
How did I do it?
I put my head down and blasted through for three years, working, going to school or doing homework with no breaks, no real vacations and no free time.
Once a year, I went with my closest friends for a weekend on the river where I blew off steam, acted like a wild Samoan and was able to recapture a bit of what I’d skipped by growing up too fast. I cherished those weekends.
Every day I looked at my doe-eyed son (from the time he was a toddler to a preschool kid) and knew that working and going to school was for him, as much as it was for me, and that by sticking with it and getting through it, I could help make a better future for him.
My dad had worked full time and gone to law school when my sisters were little — I figured if he had done it, so could I. Apparently we’ve both passed down a difficult legacy.
I absolutely lived for the day I’d graduate (and my son would attend, in his tiny clip-on tie) and with each semester, the light at the end of the tunnel got a little brighter.
It was exhausting. He’s right. But I got through it. And so will he.