My Little Pilgrim

I spent the earlier part of my day in Angelo’s class attending their Thanksgiving Party.  The boys were “pilgrims” and the girls were the native Americans.  It was priceless seeing him light up when he saw me enter the room.  The performed a few Thanksgiving songs and then ate a feast of popcorn, cranberry sauce, cranberry bread, corn muffins and sliced turkey.  (And the boy actually took a liking to it!)  There I was, the proud mom, taking pictures and helping him open his juice box, looking at the different pieces he had done the past few days, watching my boy with such joy.

Then the teacher had us sit down and string together colored macaroni into a bracelet which was traded with a friend, and a necklace that they wore.  Angelo and I worked at the projects like a team, and he was visibly happy threading the macaroni together, working on something with Mommy. I felt rather sad for one or two other kids who didn’t have a parent present.  Alan couldn’t make it but I made sure I was there.  I had always had the benefit of having my parents supporting me during those school activities, even if they were just one among hundreds of others watching us during field day.

I had to give up a whole morning but it was well worth it, seeing him get accustomed to the many practices of his “home”.  It was most touching to see a list of things the children were thankful for, more so when I saw listed next to his name: “Angelo: Mommy and Daddy.”