Graduation season is upon us once again. Students of all ages, from preschoolers to those completing their doctoral studies, are celebrating their achievements. This topic resonates deeply with me as my eldest, Alex, is finishing his senior year of high school. I’ve been cautioned about the emotional rollercoaster I’ll experience, how I might wish for the simplicity of his first-grade days to replace the bittersweet finality of his twelfth-grade send-off. But honestly, I’m just not feeling it.
I’ve revisited those kindergarten performances. I’ve dug up second-grade report cards filled with heartwarming comments from his teachers. I’ve even stumbled upon long-forgotten baby pictures and heartfelt Mother’s Day cards while assembling the customary senior tributes. Yet, none of these memories have struck a chord with me. What’s the matter with me, you might wonder? I believe I have an answer.
Every year, a poem circulates online, reflecting on the “lasts” you share with your child. It’s certainly touching—there are parts that resonate:
- One day, you’ll carry them on your hip, and then set them down, never to do so again.
- They’ll take your hand to cross the street, but one day they won’t reach for it anymore.
- They’ll run to you with open arms for the last time.
Those sentiments are sweet, and I’ve shed a tear or two when I’ve been in the mood. But at this moment, I’m just ready to usher this 6-foot-1, snack-devouring, sock-leaving, smelly teenager out of my house and toward his future. In fact, I have my own “lasts” to share:
Once your child enters puberty, nothing remains the same. You might find yourself reminiscing about the days when entering their room didn’t require a gas mask. Those days are gone, along with his willingness to heed your advice.
This will be the last time you receive calls from the school informing you that your “angel” left campus without permission. Imagine him pulling off a perfect Dukes of Hazzard spin in a crowded parking lot, clipping another car before crashing into a light pole.
The days of a bedroom filled with Legos and toy cars have passed, replaced by a collection of every utensil you own, along with an impressive assortment of bowls and cups with dried milk stuck to the sides. But remember, these chaotic days won’t last forever.
There will come a day when you log into iTunes and won’t see $107 in charges for a college basketball app or an assortment of questionable songs. You’ll no longer witness your eighteen-year-old hitting golf balls into the neighbor’s window. And those moments when you ask him to empty the dishwasher, only to find measuring cups in the skillet section, will eventually cease.
One fine day, the time will come when he packs up every worn-out pair of underwear, every moldy towel, and every empty deodorant can that he mistakenly believes still works. He will walk out the door, and that will be the last time you hear his car—one that screeches at an alarming decibel level—pull out of the driveway. But don’t get too comfortable with the thought of an empty house.
So forgive me for not feeling nostalgic. He’s ready. Alex knows how to find food and utensils. He’s capable of packing his belongings and has a grasp on personal hygiene. And I’m confident he knows the way home. But I hope he doesn’t come back for the last time.
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Summary
As graduation season arrives, many parents experience a mix of emotions. While some may feel nostalgic for the past, others, like myself, are simply ready to see their children step into the future. The transition from childhood to adulthood brings its own unique challenges and joys, and for some, it’s a welcome change.