About My Mom
Dear Newberg High School Students,
You don't know it, but you are all pretty darn lucky. Why? Because my mom, Lisa, works at your school. You might think she's just the "hall Nazi" (as a few morons have taken to calling her), you might assume that she's only there to get you in trouble for skipping class, smoking behind the art building, dealing drugs, or for any of the other other dumb things you do... but oh my dear sweet highschooler, you are so wrong. Please, indulge me, and let me tell you why you are so darn lucky to know my mom.
She sees you. She doesn't just see the trouble that you are causing, your inappropriate clothing, or your bad attitude; she sees when you are hurting, confused, and angry. She's sees who you are and how you and who you want to be and what you want to do. She sees you.
She hears you. She doesn't just hear your vulgar words, blatant disrespect for authority, or disregard for your peers; she hears the hurt that you have endured, the questions you have but are too scared to ask, and the worries for your future. She hears you.
My mom knows you. She knows you by name. And she doesn't remember your name just so that she can report you to the principle. No, she remembers your name so that she can pray for you before she goes to bed at night. She knows your story. Not so that she can hold it against you, but so she can better understand where you have been so that she might help you get to a better place. She knows your future, what it might be, what it could be, and more importantly, what she hopes it to be for you. She knows you.
You might only see her stern looks, you might only hear her strong reprimands, you might only know that she's there to keep you in school. You don't see the tears that she has cried for you, hear the prayers that she has whispered for you, or realize that all she wants is to keep you safe. I've heard more then a few stories about you and let me tell you, I know how much my mom cares. I can see the heartbreak on her face when she speaks of one of "her kids" who had to be suspended or expelled because they couldn't get their act together. I have also seen the joy and pride that she beams when she tells of a student who has turned it around, gotten their grades up, started making better choices. She cares for you! So deeply. And you have no idea how lucky you are. I know you don't know this because I am her daughter and I had no idea how lucky I was to grow up under that watchful eyeful. But I hope someday that you will come to the same realization that I have; that when a parent, or adult, is strict and expects a lot from you, it is not because they enjoy making your life miserable, it is because they LOVE you and sincerely want the BEST for you. That is all my mother has ever shown me and that is what she is doing for you now. I promise. To know her, to have her know you, to have her care for you despite your indifference, that is one of the luckiest breaks that you have ever gotten. Don't mess it up.
Sincerely,
Bethany Recaido, lucky enough to be Lisa Joyce's youngest daughter.
You don't know it, but you are all pretty darn lucky. Why? Because my mom, Lisa, works at your school. You might think she's just the "hall Nazi" (as a few morons have taken to calling her), you might assume that she's only there to get you in trouble for skipping class, smoking behind the art building, dealing drugs, or for any of the other other dumb things you do... but oh my dear sweet highschooler, you are so wrong. Please, indulge me, and let me tell you why you are so darn lucky to know my mom.
She sees you. She doesn't just see the trouble that you are causing, your inappropriate clothing, or your bad attitude; she sees when you are hurting, confused, and angry. She's sees who you are and how you and who you want to be and what you want to do. She sees you.
She hears you. She doesn't just hear your vulgar words, blatant disrespect for authority, or disregard for your peers; she hears the hurt that you have endured, the questions you have but are too scared to ask, and the worries for your future. She hears you.
My mom knows you. She knows you by name. And she doesn't remember your name just so that she can report you to the principle. No, she remembers your name so that she can pray for you before she goes to bed at night. She knows your story. Not so that she can hold it against you, but so she can better understand where you have been so that she might help you get to a better place. She knows your future, what it might be, what it could be, and more importantly, what she hopes it to be for you. She knows you.
You might only see her stern looks, you might only hear her strong reprimands, you might only know that she's there to keep you in school. You don't see the tears that she has cried for you, hear the prayers that she has whispered for you, or realize that all she wants is to keep you safe. I've heard more then a few stories about you and let me tell you, I know how much my mom cares. I can see the heartbreak on her face when she speaks of one of "her kids" who had to be suspended or expelled because they couldn't get their act together. I have also seen the joy and pride that she beams when she tells of a student who has turned it around, gotten their grades up, started making better choices. She cares for you! So deeply. And you have no idea how lucky you are. I know you don't know this because I am her daughter and I had no idea how lucky I was to grow up under that watchful eyeful. But I hope someday that you will come to the same realization that I have; that when a parent, or adult, is strict and expects a lot from you, it is not because they enjoy making your life miserable, it is because they LOVE you and sincerely want the BEST for you. That is all my mother has ever shown me and that is what she is doing for you now. I promise. To know her, to have her know you, to have her care for you despite your indifference, that is one of the luckiest breaks that you have ever gotten. Don't mess it up.
Sincerely,
Bethany Recaido, lucky enough to be Lisa Joyce's youngest daughter.
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