On Friday and Saturday, February 24-25, Allyson and her teammates competed in the state Academic Decathlon meet in Frisco, Texas. Although it was an hour's drive, there was no way I would miss the awards ceremony that Sunday morning.
When I sent a text requesting the details, Allyson tried to dissuade me:
Sarah: ...I want to be there when you give your winning speech ♥
Allyson: nooooo
Sarah: I want to cheer for your awards, whatever you get
Allyson: idk how to explain it but i probably won't win many individual awards, cause i'm going for a overall award rather than just individual
Sarah: Oh. I've been looking forward to cheering for you and your team. :(
Allyson: you can come it's fine... it's just there's two ways you can strategize for state you can study really hard on one subject to try to win one medal or you can study all of them- not get individual medals, and try to win as an overall student...
Sarah: Well, if I can go, I'd like to.
Allyson: you have to buy a ticket
I sent several more messages requesting instructions on purchasing the ticket, and Allyson continued warning me to lower my expectations. She told me that her prepared speech had been a little short on time so she'd had to improvise, but that her impromptu speech had been great. Other than that, she wasn't sure how she did.
Allyson: there is no guarantee i get any awards keep that in mind
Sarah: I know. I think you will. But even if you don't I will be super proud of you and your team. You all worked very hard.
Allyson: thank you
To my dismay, I learned that the award ceremony was scheduled for 8 a.m. For just a moment, I contemplated heeding Allyson's warnings and getting a couple more hours of much-needed sleep. But then I thought about her amazing performance in the regional competition a few weeks before and knew that I just had to be there to cheer for her.
There were two options for the tickets: $20 for observer only, or $35 with breakfast. My love of breakfast battled with my frugality, but in the end I decided to go with the cheap ticket since there weren't likely to be a lot of gluten-free options. Because it was very late, and I'd had a scratchy throat and burning eyes all day, I decided to wait until morning to buy my ticket. I didn't want to waste my money on the off chance that I could be sick.
When my alarm sounded in the pre-dawn darkness the next morning, I groaned aloud. This was the earliest I'd woken up in many months. There was no time to feel sorry for myself, though. I pulled on the clothes I'd laid out, brushed my teeth, and got out the peanut butter overnight oats I'd prepared the night before. I set my sister Amy's portion on the kitchen table in an insulated lunch bag and carried my own jar of cold oats out to the car.
The commute started off on the wrong foot before I'd even left my driveway. Although I'd mapped it at 52 minutes at 11 p.m. the night before, today's estimate was 1 hour and 10 minutes. On a Sunday! Argh! I hesitated for a few seconds wondering whether I should go ahead and purchase my ticket right then. Was there any way the tickets could sell out?
I decided to buy the tickets in the parking lot of the hotel because obviously there must be a wreck on my route, and maybe the traffic would get even worse.
The drive was actually pretty smooth, if circuitous. I felt grateful, as I often do, that Google Maps knows all the alternate routes. I arrived with 8 minutes to spare, and I didn't spill any oatmeal on myself. Not bad!
By the time I found an empty space on the fifth level of the parking garage, that spare time had been whittled down to 6 minutes. With shaking fingers, I opened the link from Allyson's text and began filling out the payment information. I chewed a fingernail. Would my cell service hold out inside the garage?
Yes, it would! But... the payment failed, with a maddeningly vague error message. I reviewed all the information and submitted it again. The error persisted. I took off my glasses and brought the tiny screen closer to my face. Ah, there it was: I'd entered the wrong expiration year. I corrected my mistake and submitted the payment again.
Again, it failed.
A text message beeped in from Allyson: "are you here yet"
I glanced at the time: 7:56!
"I'm here," I replied. I didn't mention that I was still in the parking garage.
I tried not to panic. Surely after driving all this way, I would not be prevented from watching the award ceremony due to technical difficulties. I decided to find my way to the conference hall first and try to sort out the problem with the credit card there. Perhaps there would be a human being who could help me.
I took some comfort in seeing the stream of other latecomers converging on the elevators. Clearly, I wasn't the only one who hadn't allowed for much margin. On the ground floor, I followed the crowd into the lobby, where hundreds of students and parents milled around, wearing everything from blue jeans to evening gowns. I headed toward one of the tables, prepared to share my sob story and hope for mercy. But then I realized they were only selling team photos and shirts.
I set my things down on the end of the table and fished out my cell phone. Then, I meticulously entered the 16 digits of my credit card and scrolled to the correct expiration year. I verified the code on the back of the card as well as my zip code. Crossing my fingers, I pressed Submit one more time.
Failed!
Just then, the nearest double doors swung open, and a river of people surged through them. My heart thudded and tears gathered in my eyes as I searched for someone who could help me. There was no one.
I squeezed my eyes shut and said a quick but fervent mental prayer. There was nothing to do but try again. I cross-checked the number against my credit card and scrolled to the year once again. With my finger poised over the Submit button, my eyes flitted to the expiration month--which had defaulted to the current month of February. I corrected my error and pressed the button....
Success! Oh, thank you, Jesus! I thought.
I strode through the unsecured doors and peered across the sea of tables. With 40 teams of nine students in the giant hall, there was little hope of spotting Allyson. I wondered whether I could have sat with her if I'd coughed up $15 for breakfast.
I found the shockingly small observers' area at the back of the room and settled into an empty seat, casting a shy smile at the couple directly next to me. The time was 8:03. Whew!
As I waited for the program to begin, I was amused to hear the mom behind me voicing my exact thoughts. "I'm surprised there was no one to check our tickets. We could have just walked right in!"
"I know," her husband answered with a chuckle. "We should have sat at one of the breakfast tables."
A minute later, a woman about my age sat down on my left. We nodded and smiled but didn't speak. I pulled out my phone to send Allyson a text describing my location and then opened the Chrome browser to amuse myself. But then, I turned the phone off. Here was an opportunity to connect with a person, rather than an algorithm.
It took me two minutes to think of how to start a conversation and another minute to work up the nerve. Finally, I asked, "How long was your drive this morning?"
"Just 38 minutes," she replied. "We live in Rockwall. But I drove in from Houston just last night so I could make it today. Both of my parents have been very sick, so I've been staying with them this week."
"You're such a good mom!" I exclaimed. "...and daughter." This woman had gotten up early on a Sunday after driving five hours just the night before, all without any assurance that her child would win any awards.
We talked for several minutes about our shared experiences as new members of the "sandwich generation," with the stresses of raising children while simultaneously helping our aging parents as they are in and out of the hospital.
"I never used to understand why they say it's so stressful when your parents get to the age of having so many health problems," I said. "But now I do."
"Yes!" she agreed.
We talked all through the quiet moments during the breakfast, in between a couple of speakers. By the time the actual awards started, I felt happy to be biting my fingernails next to a new friend.
I needed her support because the suspense was agonizing. As each category was announced, a list of names filled the screen. If your child's name appeared on the list, you knew that they had placed. Next, the emcee announced the winners for the small schools, and then the medium schools, and then the large schools--Allyson's category. For each of these groups, the winners were announced by level: first varsity, then scholastic (Allyson's level), and finally honors. Within each level, the prizes were announced from third place to first place. This means there were a minimum of 27 names to announce for each category; often, several students tied for an award.
The first category was the essay. As the names flashed on the screen, I gasped in surprise. "Your daughter?" my friend asked. "Yes!" I clasped sweaty hands as all the names flowed over my ears: nine awards for the small schools, and nine more for the medium schools. Then three more awards for the varsity level of the large schools.
Now was the moment of truth. I crossed my fingers, hoping not to hear Allyson's name. But I did. She'd won third place in the state essay contest. I hollered and clapped as loud as I could. Writing the third-place essay in the state was an amazing achievement. And the essay was not even what she considered her strongest category.
The second category was the interview. Allyson had made a perfect score on this in the regional competition. Once more, I crossed my fingers. And there was her name! Yes!! This time, the suspense lasted even longer because... ALLYSON WON FIRST PLACE! I shouted and raised a fist. I heard the murmurs of appreciation around me. Although our children were rivals, we were all in this together.
For just a moment, I wondered if Allyson would sweep all the categories, but I didn't hear her name again until until the end. She ranked 12th in the state! Her team placed 10th overall in their division.
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| Allyson is the first in the middle row. |
Aside from Allyson's awards, I had two favorite moments that morning. The first was when a young man who may have had autism won an award. He stood frozen in place, both hands gripping his head as he smiled from ear to ear, apparently overwhelmed with surprise and delight. Tears filled my eyes as I cheered for him. Everyone else must have felt similarly moved; although our hands were numb from too much clapping, the applause for this award was more thunderous than for any first-place medal.
The second moment was the award for an academic decathlon coach. Before announcing the teacher's name, the emcee read a heartfelt letter from the student who'd nominated her. He wrote about the hours she'd given, both at school and in her spare time, to help their team prepare. And he explained what her love and support had meant to him personally. Then, the teacher gave a short speech that brought tears to my eyes again because it made me miss my brief time in the classroom.
Three hours after I'd arrived, I fought my way to Allyson's table at the front of the hall and squeezed her very tightly. "I'm SO proud of you!" I exclaimed. Flushed with triumph, she replied, "I can't wait for next year!"
Although I'd hoped to hear all the details on the long ride home, Allyson opted to ride home with her team. The same thing happened to the Rockwall mom. She told me it had been the same when she'd come the year before. Rockwell, by the way, placed fourth overall.
"Wow, that's amazing!" I told her when the rank was announced. "Congratulations! They must have worked so hard."
"Actually, they didn't work so hard this year; their coach won't be happy," she said. With an impossibly casual tone, she added, "Last year, they won first."
"Wow!" I repeated. "Well, I hope to see you here again next year!"
"Yes! I'll look for you."
Allyson later learned that she had placed fourth in the speech category. If she had given her speech as well as she'd done at the regional competition, she believed she could have had a chance at first place. She'd been so nervous that she'd talked faster, and then she'd had to improvise. Still, fourth place was nothing to be ashamed of, I assured her.
"I'm really happy that you won in the essay and interview categories," I said late that evening when I finally got to hear all the details of her amazing weekend. "Any award would be an accomplishment, but oral and written communication skills will get you far in any career. You are confident and articulate, and you can think on your feet. You're a leader who will make a difference in everything you do."
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| They found some time for fun during their amazing weekend. |
Like Allyson, I'm already excited for next year's competition. The theme will be technology and humanity. I wonder what Allyson will teach me about that topic. I'll be sure to pass it on.
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