As graduation approaches, a professor finds herself reflecting on the journey of her students and the bittersweet emotions that come with saying goodbye. One particular student, Sarah, was picking classes for her final semester, revealing her anxiety about the future. She told me she wanted to work as much as possible to save for her independence after graduation. Juggling three part-time jobs, she was determined not to return to her parents, who were both preoccupied with their own lives. Her father had lost his job and moved into a cramped apartment, while her mother was busy raising younger siblings and made it clear that Sarah wasn’t welcome. “I’m just terrified I won’t have a place to live,” she confided.
My heart ached for her. Sarah was a tenacious first-generation college student, a demographic that our state college attracts with its affordable tuition. Many of her peers share the same aspirations but worry about finances and academic readiness. Coming from a rural school district with limited resources, Sarah arrived on campus without even knowing how to send an email. Yet she had a passion for learning, worked diligently, and eventually caught up with her more privileged classmates. She often expressed her gratitude for the support I offered in class, which warmed my heart.
Over the years, our conversations deepened, allowing us to share snippets of our lives. When I discovered Sarah had a talent for singing, I couldn’t help but mention my daughter’s budding interest in music. I was elated when my daughter landed a role in a local musical, and Sarah shared her excitement about her own first major role in high school. Despite her mother’s initial indifference, she recalled how her mother cried tears of joy on opening night upon realizing her daughter’s talent. “She didn’t even know I could sing,” Sarah said, a mix of pride and disbelief in her voice.
Unlike my daughter, who was always singing around the house, Sarah’s talent had gone unnoticed, almost neglected by her parents. While some parents hover over their children, analyzing every detail of their lives, Sarah’s parents were simply too overwhelmed to provide that kind of attention—or even recognize her special gifts.
In that moment, I wished I could invite her into my home, to offer her the support she so richly deserved. I envisioned her bonding with my daughter, who is an only child. But I knew this desire extended beyond my role as a professor. I was already guiding her on the path to a degree—an essential stepping stone towards a brighter future, despite ongoing debates about the value of college education today. I didn’t need to step into a mothering role, but I found myself wanting to.
I reassured her of her strength and resilience, telling her how incredible she was and that her hard work would pay off. “Teaching you is a true gift,” I said, my eyes misty with emotion, already anticipating how much I would miss her.
As commencement day looms, I think of Sarah and the other students I’ve grown close to over my years of teaching. Saying goodbye never gets easier. My connections with these students have deepened, taking on a distinctly maternal quality (yes, I am old enough to be their mother!). I’ve come to know their stories—relationships, career doubts, and even personal battles that no one at 22 should have to face.
I feel immense pride in the young adults they’ve become. Many have achieved incredible things, winning awards and gaining acceptance into prestigious graduate programs. Some have contributed articles to respected publications and received job offers in a competitive market. Watching them evolve from hesitant teens into confident, purpose-driven reporters gives me renewed hope for the future of journalism.
I often joke about my feelings, saying, “I have one child, but then there are my students!” It’s a tricky metaphor, as I can’t truly play the role of a mother to this large group of young adults. After all, mothers don’t grade their kids or write recommendation letters—thank goodness!
Ultimately, I have no claim to the intricacies of a real parent-child relationship. Sarah didn’t need another mother; she was more than capable of navigating her own path. Just before graduation, Sarah’s mother surprised her by asking her to return home until she found a job. By summer’s end, she secured a position as a flight attendant—a unique path for a journalism graduate. I couldn’t be happier for her. I love seeing her Facebook photos showcasing the exotic locations she visits and, even more, the ones with her mother, capturing their rekindled bond.
Graduation day often brings abrupt goodbyes. At my college, we hold celebratory department receptions for graduates and their families, complete with cake adorned in school colors. Yet, few families attend, caught up in the rush to leave town. Faculty members can be seen in a forlorn circle, munching on brightly colored cake.
I remind myself that cheering for my exuberant students as they walk across the stage is the best goodbye I could offer. We live in a time when the value of a college education is questioned. Websites like Payscale allow families to compare campuses based on graduates’ earnings, but none of these metrics can capture the profound emotional connections formed between professors and students. For me, that value is immeasurable, and I hope my students feel it too.
In the end, the journey of teaching is not just about imparting knowledge; it’s about fostering relationships that transcend the classroom. If you’re interested in navigating the complexities of parenthood or exploring home insemination options, check out Kindbody’s blog for excellent resources, or consider the tools available at Cryobaby for a hands-on approach. For those seeking guidance in their journey, feel free to reach out through this link for support.
To summarize, as the graduation season rolls around, a professor reflects on her students’ journeys, particularly one determined young woman, Sarah, who faced significant challenges. Their bond has deepened over the years, highlighting the emotional connections formed through education. Despite the bittersweet nature of graduation, the professor takes pride in her students’ accomplishments and the lasting impact of their time together.