It was a mistake to watch the last episode of the final season of Never Have I Ever on the eve of my son’s high school graduation as he prepares to move 3000 miles away across the country in his evolution from Enloe Eagle to Oregon Duck.
I am left wondering how my own parents might have felt when I left the nest.
It was 1986, and the details are admittedly a tish fuzzy. There were white dresses and navy gold buttoned blazers rather than caps and gowns. We had lessons in how to sit like a lady and cross our ankles rather than our legs. I couldn’t tell you who spoke or carry forward any poignant messages from the ceremony itself.
But the weight of high school graduation stays with me. The energy and palpable feelings of bliss, pride, relief, and joy that punctuated our very auras. It is the notion of possibility that is universal in such milestones.
And now it is 2023. In just a few hours my youngest will walk across the stage in cap and gown. He’ll try to make it brisk and camouflage the fact that he so desperately wants to tug at the tie that might be impossibly tight. He will be ready to kick off his leather loafers in favor of the trashed Nikes I nag him about. It will be a large venue so we won’t make eye contact. I’ll see a sea of green robes, and he’ll see an ocean of parents’ tears. I would be lying if I said I didn’t tear up while writing this. But these are not tears of sorrow. It is unadulterated pride that swells in my heart so big and heavy that it gushes out as waterworks because it is simply too much to bear in the vessel that is me. I am a full blown sentimental mom of the best and worst variety rolled into one.
These Covid years for our high schoolers have been hard. The world has been a heavy burden, especially for anyone who leads with empathy. There was a point in the last couple years that my son exclaimed that he was tired of living in the midst of such monumental historic moments. Our children have shown resilience beyond measure because we have created a world that requires learning how to tread water above all else. But the thing about milestones is that we are reminded to go on, raise our heads high above the water line to gaze at the sky, the sun, the stars to see what is infinitely possible. It is this potential and promise of what’s ahead that fuels us.
And here’s the secret…it turns out that our children are our greatest teachers.
Courage. Self-awareness. Introspection. Privilege. These are lessons I’ve garnered from my son. My youngest son, affectionately known as Deal all these years on my little corner of the internet, is graduating from high school this evening. You have seen him go from chubby cheeked toddler to a towering young man. What a marvel of the space time continuum that 15 years sped by in a blink! They say that what children are like at age three is a mark of their temperament at age 16. I’ve largely found this to be true. My Deal continues to be a sweet soul who puts others above himself. He used to ask me in the tender dulcet tone of toddlerhood, “Are you happy, Mommy?” Even today, he is the first to anticipate when something will make me cry and he preemptively brings me a box of tissues.
I have a granny pack of Kleenex ready in my purse, and he’ll know that when the first note of Pomp and Circumstance plays, his mom will be crying.
Beautiful. My eyes are teary 🥲 too.