Why do we, as parents, work so hard to raise our children? The days are long; the nights even longer. It is a never ending list of cleaning, teaching, playing, guiding, worrying, and huge financial outlays. There are rewards: hugs, kisses, smiles, laughter, and presents of frogs and flowers. We do it, in part, for the milestones. The events along the way that make parents swell with pride, such as, a child's first word and steps, first day of school, first date, getting a driver's license and graduating. One of these happened to me last night, an event, a milestone, a memory, that I will carry in my heart and mind forever -- my son's graduation.
I arrive early to find the auditorium filled with anticipatory excitement. Then as the instruments of the orchestra begin to dance over the notes to "Pomp and Circumstance," all eyes turn expectantly to the doors through which the graduates will emerge. My eyes eagerly scan the young people striding past my aisle seat, when, with a sharp intake of breath, I see my boy.I find my mind floating back to that day, so long ago and yet just yesterday. I see myself holding this wee little man, only hours old, not counting fingers and toes, but gazing at the face of a little stranger staring back at me. I look intently trying to see the face of the person he will become and with my eyes locked with his, I realize I am totally, completely in love. I continue to watch the procession of graduates and I find I slip back in time again. This time three years old and my energe tic little fellow is busy drawing with chalk. I sit on the ground to watch my little Picasso and relax. When he is done, his little voice calls me to come see his creations. There among the scribble is CIV. My amazing son has just written his name for the first time. I swell with amazement and pride. Suddenly, my boy is fifteen and I am in the car as a passenger this time. It feels weird and I look at my son happily pocketing his freshly minted learner's permit. He prepares to drive us home and I tell myself to relax as I discretely clutch the door handle. He does so well that I am surprised when he tell me he is nervous too.
Much of the rest of the ceremony is blur for me. The speeches are just bits and pieces, interspersed with my musings. What will the future hold? What will he become? I catch my breath as I realize this is the exact thing I wondered about seventeen and a half years ago. I am snapped back to the present. Names are being called. I see my son stand and get in line for his turn to walk across the stage. Both of us waiting, waiting. I start the video as he begins his climb up the steps and then the announcement of his name. The clapping surrounds me but I hardly hear it. My eyes are only on my boy. He walks so tall and proud. I feel the swell of love in my chest and tears of pride sting my eyes. Afterward, the recessional begins and young men and women begin the walk to embark on their new lives as adults. I watch with all the other families until the very last one has gone out of the auditorium. Now it is time to follow them out and search through the throng of bodies to find my son. I finally spot him and join the rest of the families taking pictures in all the various configurations of graduate and family. The best picture is saved for last, just me and my boy. My son hands me the flower that had been given to him on stage. I take it as my eyes tear up again, I hug him and whisper in his ear, "I love you." For this, I have waited for seventeen and a half years. A memory I will cherish for a lifetime.
