Today was Robespierre's final meeting with his Hebrew tutor before his Bar Mitzvah next week. He's taken classes from this lady since he was in third grade; he's entering 8th in the fall. His final session was a joint practice with another 13-year-old boy whose Bar Mitzvah will be the same day as Robey's, so before the first boy's session was over and Robey began his rehearsal she gave them both her standard speech about how Bar Mitzvah means that you're an adult and for the first time you have the ability and responsibility to make adult decisions and stand up against peer pressure. Once she'd finished her speech and dismissed the first boy, it was Robey's turn for his private rehearsal of speeches and prayers.
When he'd completed his run-through the tutor said she had something else to say to Robey. Here is the gist of her speech for his ears only:
"Robey, I've been tutoring Hebrew for 18 years and I figure I must have taught at least a thousand students. Most of them I don't remember, but there are a very few that stick in my mind.
Robespierre, YOU are one of those students.
I remember when I first had you in class and you were not interested and not paying attention. I knew you were very smart but you didn't want to sit still or channel your energies into learning if the subject wasn't something that interested you.
But in the past six months you transformed into someone who took responsibility for your work and obligations. Not only did you study and learn responsibly, you brought a positive attitude to every session and helped set a constructive example for other B'nai Mitzvah students.
Robey, I can tell that when you grow up, you'll be exceptional at whatever you do and everyone will know about you. No matter what profession you choose, you'll be an outstanding leader, a smashing success, and famous for being the best in your field. I only hope you channel your energies for good."
I say things like that about my son. My parents say things like that about my son. We know that what we say is true but we also know that nobody would take our word as gospel because of our inherent partiality.
Today a practical stranger paid my son a phenomenal compliment undiluted by bias, encouragement, or ulterior motive. As she spoke I tried to appear nonchalant, as if any sudden moves from me might scare her away like a rabbit in the garden; at the same time, my heart celebrated the joy of my son's well-deserved accolades.
I can't tell him I'm writing this; he'd be embarrassed. But I have to brag on him -- it's my duty as a mother.
Besides -- she was completely right.
