Samuel, my first born, the child that wasn't allowed to watch Scooby-Doo until he was five, the child that wasn't allowed to watch a single PG-13 action packed adventure movie until he turned 13, the child for whom I sanitized everything, the child who endured my rookie mistakes and turned me from a sometimes wishy-washy girl into a sometimes authoritative mother, graduated this week -- from the 8th grade. Down South, that's a big deal, and I don't mean that in a deprecating sort of way. In The South, most everything deserves proper celebration, and this was one of those occasions. Eighth grade, the end of the road at our little school, marks the parting of ways of decade long friendships. I was so proud of these character-filled young men and women as they stood together to receive their accolades and diplomas. Before me stood the future leaders of the next generation. Theses cupcakes topped with chocolate-scripted toppers were an elegant and festiv...