The Rose in the Sidewalk

A few summers ago, AR decided to get another tattoo. He was extremely proud of it, as it had a lot more meaning than his other ones. On his shoulder and arm, the artist drew a beautiful rose coming out of a sidewalk. It's in black ink, with minimal shading, and well done.

Of course, when I saw new ink on his arm, I began drilling him about it. The usual questions of "Is that new?", "Why did you need ANOTHER?", and "Can it be covered by a shirt?" all came firing out of my mouth. After I calmed down, and he calmly answered all of my annoying parent questions, I finally decided to ask, "So... what does it mean?"

"It's me. I'm the rose in the sidewalk. I am a beautiful thing that came out of an impossible place."

I must admit, I got a bit teary. He was absolutely right. AR grew up in Southeast DC, went to (statistically) one of the worst high schools in the country, and had a criminal record by the age of 15. He wasn't supposed to graduate high school, he wasn't supposed to go to college, and in many ways he wasn't supposed to survive.

But here he was, alive, admitted into college, and not just surviving, but thriving. A truly beautiful rose coming out of a cracked and littered sidewalk.

His radiance can make it difficult sometimes to remember that his rose is growing out of a sidewalk. Now that he's about to graduate from college, I sometimes forget the environment that he is surrounded by when he's at home. When he's at school, he's surrounded by academics, like himself, and accomplished athletes, like himself, and kids who are focused on being successful, like himself. When he's home, he is surrounded by people who have trouble holding a job, have criminal records, are in and out of jail, and few who have gone to college. He has wonderful people in his life, but they aren't on the same trajectory as he is, and that's when you realize he's not in a garden, but a sidewalk.

The most painful times I'm reminded of this is when him and I are disagreeing on life decisions. He calls for advice, or I call to ask a myriad of parent-esque questions, and when he doesn't really like what I'm saying it results in him telling me I don't understand. I didn't grow up on a harsh sidewalk, but in the middle of a well-manicured garden bed. Someone was constantly looking after me, ensuring I was in just the right place at just the right time, getting fed regularly and enough space to grow. He's right, I didn't grow up in the same fashion that he did. I am no rose in a sidewalk.

However, this does not discredit me from giving advice. While there are certain things I can't relate to, I had to make many of the life decisions that he's about to make. Upon graduation, I had to make sure my grades were in order, that I was in the process of getting a job (which I mostly can recommend what NOT to do), securing housing after graduation, and trying to make meaning of the 4 years that I was about to complete. Your last semester of college is arguably one of the scariest of your life, and in my overbearing way I want to make sure it's not as scary for him. But that's not fair. It's a right of passage to have to figure it out, to walk on your own, to make big life decisions.

Ultimately, the rose grew in harsher conditions than senior year of college, so I'm sure he's going to be just fine. More importantly, I need to stop acting like it's my job to replant the rose - he can do that all on his own.