if you’ve been around a while then you know I’m a mom whose child has already graduated from high school. Thank the LORD for that but there are moments when I sit at my desk and find myself thinking about something as simple as a backpack. And I know that may sound strange. Because to most people, a backpack is just a backpack.
It is something you purchase before school starts. Something you fill with folders, notebooks, pencils, and papers. But as a mom, I know better. Just ask David Charlie’s backpack was never just a backpack. It was memories. It was love. It was the little moments that became the big moments. It was watching my children grow through different seasons of life and realizing how quickly those years passed.
As you may know before I was Charlie’s mom, I was Suzanne’s mom. And Suzanne’s backpack story started with my mom. I remember my mother taking Suzanne to JCPenney’s and buying her a leather backpack. It had Warner Bros. characters on it, including the Tasmanian Devil, and it was special.
I honestly do not even know what my mom paid for that backpack nor do I want to know, but it lasted forever and a day. That backpack was there for school days, adventures, and childhood memories. But it became even more special because after Suzanne passed away. David and I got together, David used that same backpack for work for years.
That backpack had a story. It had been loved by a little girl, purchased by a grandmother and carried through school days, and then carried into another chapter of life. Honestly, I think that backpack finally wore out because it had simply lived a full life. And isn’t that how some things are? Or should be?
They are not valuable because of the price tag. They are valuable because of the memories attached to them. When Charlie came along, I found myself creating those same little moments in a different way. Every year, we would go school shopping and pick out a backpack and half the fun was seeing what he would choose.
Would it be Thomas the Tank Engine? Would it be Tow Mater from Cars? Would it be something else that caught his eye? I still remember those moments. Because I wasn’t just picking out a backpack. I was choosing a memory. I wanted Charlie to know how much I loved him. I wanted him to know how proud I was of him.
I wanted him to walk into that classroom knowing someone was cheering him on. And the funny thing about Charlie’s backpack is that it was never only for school. On weekends, that backpack became an adventure bag. He would throw his toys inside and head down to the park to play for hours. If he was going to Oklahoma with my sister, he might pack clothes inside it.
And if you knew Charlie, you knew there was no telling what you might find in that backpack. Rocks. Worms. Sometimes Grass Snakes that almost caused me to have a heart attack. School papers and notes that I had wondered where they went. Little treasures that only made sense to him. And yes, there were even times when he tried to hide a dog he found outside in that backpack. Because that was Charlie.
His heart was always bigger than whatever he was carrying. You never knew what you would find when you opened that backpack, but you knew there would be a story. That is why those memories mean so much to me today. Because now Charlie has graduated from high school. Those school shopping trips are over. Those first days are behind us.
But sometimes I still sit at my desk and think about walking through those aisles with him. I think about choosing the perfect backpack. I think about decorating it with stickers and keychains so it would feel like his. Because let’s be honest, six kids could walk into school with the same Tow Mater backpack.
I wanted Charlie’s to feel different. Not because it was better. Because he was special. And David felt the same way. We wanted Charlie to know that he mattered. We wanted him to know that someone took the time to make ordinary moments special. Even when we didn’t have extra money to spend.
There was the support we received from David’s parents. More times than not, Granny Sherry was part of those school memories. She would call me from Walmart and say: “Hey, I found this.” “Hey, I found that.” “Oh, it has Tow Mater on it. Charlie is going to love it.” And more times than not, she would say, “I need one too.”
She would buy him backpacks. She would buy him school supplies. She would buy him clothes. And the thing that means the most to me is that she did those things because she loved him. Not because she had to. Not because she had extra money sitting around. She did it because Charlie was her grandson, and she wanted him to have what he needed.
David’s dad was part of that support too. Their love and help made a difference during those years. Because the truth is, raising a child takes a village. Back then, David was not making a lot of money. We were doing everything we could, but having that extra support allowed us to do more for Charlie.
And I never want anyone to think that Granny Sherry or I did not also enjoy picking things out for him. Because if we saw something we knew he would love, we found a way. That child probably had more clothes than every child in school. But there was a reason. We bought things on sale.
We bought things throughout the year. We planned. And Charlie took care of his clothes. Even after he finished a school year, those clothes would still look almost brand new. So instead of replacing everything, we would add a few important pieces and build his wardrobe little by little. And the funny thing is, he still wears some of those clothes today.
That boy has grown taller, but he has not put any meat on his bones. Some things never change. But those clothes were never really about the clothes. The backpack was never really about the backpack. They were reminders that people loved him. They were reminders that he was cared for. They were reminders that he had people standing behind him.
And one of the greatest reminders of how precious those moments are came before Charlie ever started kindergarten. My mom was fighting cancer. And she fought so hard because she wanted to see Charlie start school. She wanted to be there for that first day. She wanted to see her grandson walk into kindergarten. And she almost made it.
My mom passed away at 4:30 that morning. Instead of walking Charlie into his first day of kindergarten, I had to go into the school and let them know that Charlie would not be starting that day because our family would be planning my mom’s funeral. That is a moment I will never forget.
It changed the way I looked at time. It reminded me that tomorrow is not promised. We spend so much time planning for what is next that sometimes we forget to treasure what is happening right now. That is why I want to encourage parents as another school year begins. Take the picture. Write the note. Give the hug. Say the words.
Because your children may not remember every backpack they carried. They may not remember every outfit they wore or where they got it from and they may not remember every school supply they had. But they will remember how they felt. They will remember being loved. They will remember the people who showed up. They will remember the moments you created together.
For Charlie, before he walked out the door, I always reminded him: “I love you more than pizza and monster trucks, to the moon and back.” “Be safe. Be kind. And remember, I’ll be here waiting when you come home.” Those words were more than a goodbye. They were a piece of home he carried with him. Those sayings and I love you to the moon and back are still said daily between Charlie and I and always will be.
Because the things our children carry are not just the things we put inside their backpacks. They carry our love. They carry our prayers. They carry our encouragement. And those are the things that last long after the backpack is put away.
Grateful, Thankful, and Blessed
A Question for You
What is one ordinary thing from your child’s younger years that became a special memory? Maybe it was a backpack, a lunchbox, a favorite toy, or a simple tradition.Share your story with us. Sometimes the smallest things carry the biggest memories.
Thank you,
Glenda, Charlie and David Cates