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| Austin Dillon ('22) |
“How was school today?” asked my mother, beginning her daily barrage of questions regarding the rather uninteresting nuances of my high school career. She asked me what I did in each of my seven classes, seeming as though she was checking boxes off some mental list. My response to her, almost every day, was the same: “My day was fine. Please don’t interrogate me about the busywork I am doing in class.” Nothing annoyed me more than discussing the menial details of my day. I am an individual with passions, ideas, and aspirations - but all my mother seemed to care about was a surface-level description of what I did at school.
Now, almost a year after I moved out of my home and started my new life in Louisville, there is nothing I miss more than my mother’s daily inquiries. What I realize now that I did not realize then is that my mother, whose concerns are remarkably opposite of my own, was trying to find common ground on which she could express her interest in my life. She was attempting to do what so many parents fail to do - take a genuine interest in her aging child’s life.
My mom is a teacher, so she understands the environment of public education and I was a student of the public education system. My school life just happened to be where our polar interests intersected. Mom did not share my affinity for politics, nor did she revel in my tirades about the Star Wars franchise, but she did have a common understanding of my daily life in relation to schoolwork.
I misunderstood my mother’s compromise to be a disregard for my individuality. In reality, however, it was I who was disregarding what she cared about most. She had devoted over twenty years of her life to making a difference in her community through education. She possesses a deep conviction to ensure Appalachian students receive the same quality of education found in more affluent communities. She is one of the most admirable people I know. In pursuit of my own passions I turned a blind eye to hers.
My selfishness made no difference to my mother, though. Her greatest passion had been me. She supported me, tutored me, nurtured me, and loved me for eighteen years. Her questions about schoolwork were simply the canvas on which she painted her unconditional love. As is the case with many works of art I had to take a few steps back to realize its beauty.
Leaving home gave me a new appreciation for my family, especially for my mom. I realized how much my mother held me up after I had fallen down on my own. This realization prompted me to call my mom and to thank her for showing genuine concern for my life as she understood it. She may see my life through another lens, but she is lovingly looking at the same picture.
As I write this, I excitedly anticipate my evening text message from her - one which will undoubtedly read: “How was today? What did you do?” A text which I now respond to with a phone call to tell her what I’ve done, to ask her the same, and to remind her that I recognize and reciprocate her unfailing love.
Austin Terry-Lee Dillon, of Belfry, Ky., is first-year McConnell Scholar at the University of Louisville where he plans to study economics and political science.