Friday, my daughter became a High School graduate. She walked across the stage and was handed her diploma. This moment was an expectation in our home but a moment worth celebrating nonetheless.
The Pre graduation hype is where the fun lies. What are you going to wear, the announcements, the cap and gown pictures and the plans for after graduation, all fun. Walking across the stage, anticlimactic.
And as the days neared, I heard these questions repeatedly, “are you sad?”, “going to cry, mom”, “what are you going to do with your spare time?” and “will you make it through graduation without crying?”.
My response to all of them was “Hell No” and “I am going to become a beekeeper.”
“Are you going to cry?”. Are you kidding me? I am done. Let’s face it, I came to motherhood late in the game. I am 60 and my husband is 65. Don’t you think it is time we were involved in something else beside lunch money and early dismissals? Hell, no I am not going to cry. I am ready. I am ready to say to my husband, “Eat a bowl of cereal” or “lets go to Riptides for dinner”. I want to go to the closet, find my clothes, my mascara in my makeup bag and I cannot wait to get in a vehicle and see there is gas in the tank.
I want to watch something on TV without TIK TOK videos blaring in the background while the refrigerator door opens and closes 15 times and while the door closes someone is muttering, under their breath, “there is nothing in the house to eat, ever.”
I am done. I want to adult without my children. Franklin and I married with a child. We have never been alone. I am ready.
So, as the night began in typical female fashion, the graduate had a melt down because we commented on her dress. There was drama, so I threw her in the car and took her to graduation. Anyone with a female understands. If you only have boys, you have missed out.
As we traveled to the High School, we drove by White Oak Elementary, where it all began. Yes, it did seem like yesterday, when cars were parked all over the driveway, to attend the Kindergarten Program. At the end of the program, all the kindergarten kids were start singing (and if you attended one, you have started singing) “Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today, It’s off to first grade, first grade, first grade. If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere, it off to First Grade, First Grade.” There isn’t a dry eye in the house at the conclusion and it is such a sendoff.
Anyway, to lighten to mood, I said aloud what I was thinking. It was weird, it just popped into my head and stayed there…like a song…and I said it…” this is the last time I will drive to the school and have a student in the school system. Wow”. We looked at one another, it was so weird. So together, we tried to figure out how many times I had made the trip to the high school between the three kids. Addie was
not receiving any kind of “Excellence in Math” award so I was not certain that the number she came up with was correct.
I dropped her at the door with her cap and gown and she walked off. And I felt nothing. Not one ounce of nostalgia, nothing. And my expectation was always that all three of my kids would graduate. Graduation was an expectation.
I ventured through the parking lot trying to find a strategic spot and I found my Class of 2020 graduate trying to flag me down. He hopped in the car and asked, “are you ok?”
“Yes, I am ok. Why?”
“Mom, seriously, this is your last kid, your life is about to change.”
Oh, he had no idea.
“Yes, I am fine. Your sister and I were trying to figure out how many times I made a trip to the elementary school, middle school or high school between you three kids.”
He rips out his phone to start doing the math.
Three kids. Band practice, wrestling practice times 2 boys, football practice, cheer practice, football games, pick up from events, dropping to school, picking up from school, the list went on and on.
Walker came up with 5072 trips because we forgot the Robbie didn’t drive till, he was 17 and there were a few years where the kids were in different schools.
Even if the number was off, let’s say by half, 2500 trips is a ton.
We laughed and got out of the car and ventured into the High School for the final time.
As we secured a spot, I found myself beside one of my favorite families that I have met, through my kids. Perfect folks to sit by during graduation. I was happy.
I am a sucker for a marching band but when those kids walked in with the band playing the Graduation March…still…I felt nothing. My daughter was beaming and so were most of her classmates. She was meant to move out and move on. I was happy for her.
We were asked to stand and join in the Star-Spangled Banner and Francis Scott Key reached up into my heart and something happened.
I started to cry. Not an ugly cry, but big, silent crocodile tears started to roll down my cheek. Even I was stunned. But it was there in that gym, or the football fields across the state of North Carolina, where I saw boys get their asses whipped in a wrestling match, get off the mat, shake their heads while coaches spoke to them and get back down there and do it again. I have seen boys lose to girls in wrestling and be humiliated, go get a Chick Filet sandwich and feel better and I have seen boys give every ounce of what they had for a victory. I have seen dads who wanted their sons to play football, smile with pride because they were nailing a saxophone solo at a band competition. I have seen girls hoist their teammate up in the air and send her soaring and prayed they would catch her. I have heard helmets smack and kids lay motionless on the field while a mom watched to see if it was her son and if he was getting up. I have seen grandmas being faced time from the stands, cheer as the grand son scored a touchdown and made a huge tackle. I have watched boys strike out, with sweaty backs, want to give up but go back to the batter’s box and surprise themselves with a huge hit. I saw shy young girls turn into women and weak boys turn into men.
So many of my experiences with my children began with the Star-Spangled Banner. And I lost it.
I sat by my wrestling friend while my football friends sat in front and my baseball friends sat across from me. My daughter’s church friend and cheer friend, her parents were three rows in front of me…my friends because of my kids.
Across the gym was the State Championship banner that the “button’ was a part of and the coach that helped get that banner, his daughter was now sitting on the floor in front of me as a teacher.
I know my ass has 12,000 of bleacher sitting hours in it. I don’t need to do the math. I know.
And while “what so proudly we hailed” was being sung, it hit me. My role as mom was drastically changing in those stands. My friendship opportunities were changing. Where I would spend my time was over. I would see some of these folks now in the Food Lion and we will politely ask how their kids are doing and how they were doing, nice to see you and go down the aisle to get the buy one get one feature item. It would be different.
My kids would come home for breaks and tell me the scoop on old friends and classmates, but the focus would be on their new lives…and those new lives, would be away from home and my husband and I would barely be a part of them.
I was not crying because she was leaving the nest, she was meant to fly. I expected her to fly. I was crying because my nest was going to be very different. I would no longer by “Robbie’s mom, Walker’s mom or Addie’s mom”, I was just me. The grocery cart would not be as full, the laundry basket lighter (thank goodness) and the quiet in our home, deafening.
I got my composure, wiped me tears and enjoyed the night. As we left the gym, after a few pictures, and were walking to our cars, Walker said, “Me and Addie are dipping in my truck.” I responded ok. Franklin had already left.
He looked at me and asked, “Mom are you ok? You look sad.”
“Yes, I am ok. This is it. We are moving on up.”
He looked at me and said, “don’t cry mom, bigger memories are around the bend.” I got in my car, turned the ignition, and I felt something I never expected to feel on the night of no expectations, I felt something. It was a mix of completion, finality and a wild, fun roller coaster ride, great friends, gratitude for fabulous experiences and memories made.
“O’er the land of the free and the Home of the brave.” Sniff sniff.
