Parenting by Degrees
June 2, 1999
“As we parents go forth from this place to serve, we pledge…”
I’ve been to three graduations this last two weeks and I’ve felt teary-eyed, fearful, hungry, thirsty, lost, enlightened and bored. I’ve been there as a parent, an aunt and a friend of the newly anointed. I’ve been amazed and humbled by the quality of young people in our society.
And I think the thing that confuses me the most is the change in the status quo as each of the graduates steps forward in their new mined glory to assume their place in the world as adults. People suddenly leave my house with no more obligations to meet to be counted as “qualified.”
They’re qualified to go to college or get a job and have fifteen kids if they want. My niece is qualified to be a lawyer. A lawyer! She’s qualified to take me, her poor old limping aunt, into court and sue my socks off! Holy cow.
But what has their graduation qualified me to do? Can I take out an ad in the Springville Herald that promises that I can nag anyone out of bed in the morning, convince them to eat SOMETHING for breakfast and show up third period with their homework after replacing the ink in the printer so said homework can be retrieved from the computer? Can I hang out my shingle as a bona fide editor of term papers?
In the Middle East they have professional mourners—perhaps I can be a professional amateur event attendee. “Let US go to YOUR son or daughter’s football or basketball game, Shakespearean play or flute concert. We guarantee enthusiasm AND a basic knowledge of ALL event protocols. We will NEVER leave early—or show up late! And we’ll go whatever the weather and no matter how far away it is.” Unlike I am as a real parent. I can only hope I’d do better if I was getting paid.
Being the parent of a graduate has qualified me to have a Zen-like ability to disconnect myself from the apparent chaos of the world around me and focus on things as I truly want them to be regardless of how they really are. For example, your progeny, that little bit of life that’s carrying on your DNA—the only thing standing between all you are and the complete extinction of your gene pool—has come home with a less than admirable mark in some really stupid subject that it would require intelligent effort to get a bad grade in.
I don’t want to name classes here, but let’s just say it’s something you know he or she really understands but has just never shown up for. It’s the “bagel-run” class. Or let’s just say, in general, they’re failing just about everything there is to fail. As the parent of a graduate you’ve had to learn to believe. You can believe just about anything. Because you have to, because if you don’t, no one will.
Someone once said that just about the best thing you can give your child is your belief that they can succeed, in spite of all appearances to the contrary. And if they’ve graduated, it means you were there to believe when there was nothing to believe in. When a kid succeeds, he’s succeeded against the odds at one time or another.
Everyone slips and falls—sometimes flat on their face in the mud. That’s when the real parent, the heroic parent, picks himself up, looks the neighbors right in the eye, sits in the principal’s office with a weak smile and says to himself, “I still believe.”
But honestly, to my immense disappointment I don’t see anyone handing out “Graduating Parent” degrees. If anything, I feel a little stupid because after all I thought was so important about my job—they’ve actually managed to succeed in spite of me.
Maybe instead of a diploma, I need the number of a good recovery group or a gift certificate for counseling. I’m definitely going to have to look around for a new job—maybe someone who wants a PhD? Nag, nag, nag, worry, worry, worry. What can I say? It’s comfortable.
“As we parents go forth from this place to serve, we pledge…”
I’ve been to three graduations this last two weeks and I’ve felt teary-eyed, fearful, hungry, thirsty, lost, enlightened and bored. I’ve been there as a parent, an aunt and a friend of the newly anointed. I’ve been amazed and humbled by the quality of young people in our society.
And I think the thing that confuses me the most is the change in the status quo as each of the graduates steps forward in their new mined glory to assume their place in the world as adults. People suddenly leave my house with no more obligations to meet to be counted as “qualified.”
They’re qualified to go to college or get a job and have fifteen kids if they want. My niece is qualified to be a lawyer. A lawyer! She’s qualified to take me, her poor old limping aunt, into court and sue my socks off! Holy cow.
But what has their graduation qualified me to do? Can I take out an ad in the Springville Herald that promises that I can nag anyone out of bed in the morning, convince them to eat SOMETHING for breakfast and show up third period with their homework after replacing the ink in the printer so said homework can be retrieved from the computer? Can I hang out my shingle as a bona fide editor of term papers?
In the Middle East they have professional mourners—perhaps I can be a professional amateur event attendee. “Let US go to YOUR son or daughter’s football or basketball game, Shakespearean play or flute concert. We guarantee enthusiasm AND a basic knowledge of ALL event protocols. We will NEVER leave early—or show up late! And we’ll go whatever the weather and no matter how far away it is.” Unlike I am as a real parent. I can only hope I’d do better if I was getting paid.
Being the parent of a graduate has qualified me to have a Zen-like ability to disconnect myself from the apparent chaos of the world around me and focus on things as I truly want them to be regardless of how they really are. For example, your progeny, that little bit of life that’s carrying on your DNA—the only thing standing between all you are and the complete extinction of your gene pool—has come home with a less than admirable mark in some really stupid subject that it would require intelligent effort to get a bad grade in.
I don’t want to name classes here, but let’s just say it’s something you know he or she really understands but has just never shown up for. It’s the “bagel-run” class. Or let’s just say, in general, they’re failing just about everything there is to fail. As the parent of a graduate you’ve had to learn to believe. You can believe just about anything. Because you have to, because if you don’t, no one will.
Someone once said that just about the best thing you can give your child is your belief that they can succeed, in spite of all appearances to the contrary. And if they’ve graduated, it means you were there to believe when there was nothing to believe in. When a kid succeeds, he’s succeeded against the odds at one time or another.
Everyone slips and falls—sometimes flat on their face in the mud. That’s when the real parent, the heroic parent, picks himself up, looks the neighbors right in the eye, sits in the principal’s office with a weak smile and says to himself, “I still believe.”
But honestly, to my immense disappointment I don’t see anyone handing out “Graduating Parent” degrees. If anything, I feel a little stupid because after all I thought was so important about my job—they’ve actually managed to succeed in spite of me.
Maybe instead of a diploma, I need the number of a good recovery group or a gift certificate for counseling. I’m definitely going to have to look around for a new job—maybe someone who wants a PhD? Nag, nag, nag, worry, worry, worry. What can I say? It’s comfortable.
Comments