Graduation Days

My kids graduated from high school! All the usual things have been running through my head— the song “Sunrise, Sunset,” the tired but true saying “The days are long but the years are short,” and “How on earth are they already 18?” The moment has felt, well, momentous, and climbing to the top row of their high school’s bleachers, looking out at the families of 400 kids, watching them and their classmates march in ant-like lines to the band playing “Pomp and Circumstance,” listening to their classmate quote Frank O’Hara (I was impressed), seeing my kids walk across that stage and receive their diplomas was pretty mindblowing. Countless families from other countries used blowhorns and coordinated displays of posters and cheers—more than few kids here are first generation, and it was deeply moving to celebrate this big moment together. Particularly now, given the state of the country.

They’re my only kids, these two. When multiples are your only kids, they move like a storm through your life. Potty training is potty training X 2, and then you’re done. I’ve always envied parents who usher one kid at a time through life’s major milestones. People often say, “Oh, it’s the same when with more than one, and crazier, because you have to juggle different needs!” I wouldn’t know as mine have always been the same age, and truthfully these parents without multiples don’t know just as I don’t know what it’d be like to be them, so these people should can it. To my mind, we’ve all gotten a little rusty with the empathy thing. I’m no better than anyone else— I often assume other people are as harried, strapped, liberal, etc. as I am.

A couple weeks after my kids graduated, Keith’s son, who lives up in New Hampshire, graduated from his high school. As we drove past the T—-p sign at the end of the high school driveway and walked into the fairly small gym, where only fifty kids would graduate, I was reminded of the largeness of our country, the variety of high school experiences. We found our seats and then came a recording of “Pomp and Circumstance,” and in marched the kids, each with a decorated cap (I was jealous— this was forbidden at my kids’ school). We saluted the flag and took our seats. Keith’s son was the valedictorian and gave an awesome speech full of thanks to his school and teachers, as did the salutatorian/skater king of this town and a sassy, fabulous middle school teacher. This small town would see a far smaller proportion headed to college. In general, college is no longer taken for granted. If someone’s kid is graduating from high school, it’s best to ask, “What’s next?” With staggering costs and a wobbly economy, this is understandable, if more than a little sad to me.

I looked around the gym at the families of these fifty kids, and was reminded of my experience with the eclipse. Here we were— this room full of strangers of varying political, social, religious, economic backgrounds— all focused on our kids. Loving our kids, and watching them with pride and awe as they moved forward during this big moment in life. The differing towns really weren’t all that different, at least on graduation day. For two hours, I had to believe that none of us were pissed off about our own lives and our own lots, about the ways that politics and the economy were screwing us over. We all turned our gaze outward and it felt SO GOOD.

There are, of course pros and cons to growing up in a small town and a larger town, rural and urban settings. But we’ve lost that balanced discourse lately, filled up as we are by hatred and vicious propaganda. We are being dehumanized, and the moments when we are able to just sit and be together and be human together are pretty wondrous.

My kids only have two more months home before they head off to college (my son to Brandeis and my daughter to Vassar). Given this fact, the continuous swirl of wretched news, the fact that Keith is still looking for a job (healthwise he’s almost fully healed after heart surgery, though, thank the lord), it’s a little hard to march happily into the future. And so as often as possible, I’ll try to keep my gaze on my kids, who make me absurdly proud. My daughter is a hugely talented, kind, strong, bright kid planning to study drama and sociology. My son is a wildly creative, empathetic, honest, intelligent kid planning to study some combo of English and film and computers. Keith’s son also has a bright future in neuroscience at U Maryland, and will surely light up his campus with his broad wisdom, open-mindedness, instinctive caring way, and love of/knowledge of music and film and books. All three are funny and all three are unique, and the world is already and will be a better place because of them, if I do say so.

And I’ll keep my gaze on my business, which feels like it’s really solidified this past year. I have the perfect little team, with two other editors, and together our collective is providing a ton of great coaching, editing, commissioning, and consulting.

I’ll keep my gaze on my writing, specifically the new novel I’m cowriting with a friend. It’s the first time I’ve really developed an idea BEFORE sitting down to write, and already it’s paid off. It’s been a hoot to collaborate on a book for the first time.

These are not easy days. I’m wishing you all moments of outward gazing, of looking and finding the humanity and unity that still exist. Onward into summer.

Our scarecrow needs some new pants, but is otherwise ready for graduation.