COMING OF AGE

COMING OF AGE

Last night we attended our granddaughter’s graduation. Maybe it was the music that brought tears to my eyes—Pomp and Circumstance always brings that out in me. Maybe it was just the fact that our little girl was all grown up, and seemed to really have a glow about her I have rarely seen before.  She looked so regal in that cap and gown and I saw her in a whole new light. I have so many questions that plague me right now about her future. Is she ready for this, or is it just  me, not wanting to let go?  Then my eyes panned the rest of her class, and suddenly, I realized that all of those questions were on a lot of people’s minds about their children. Yes, you cry when they get on that bus for the first time, and you cry once more when they get that diploma. It’s just a conglomeration of emotions, all mixed up with pride and a sense of a loss of innocence, coming at you at the same time. They are so hard for me to separate.

My gaze went to her father—our son. It wasn’t that long ago I remembered him in that same cap and gown, and even farther back through my foggy memory, I remembered me on that stage back in Staples fifty-one years ago. How had I felt that night about going out into the world? How had our son felt? We both did just fine, so why all of this concern about her tonight. I had asked her about her plans and she seems far more organized than I was. She is off to college with a fistful of scholarships and seems to know what she wants. I went to the big city, way back then, to look for a job—any job—with thirty-five dollars in my pocket. She comes from modest means, but has her sights set much higher than that. I came from poverty and only wanted to, somehow, do better than that.

But here the comparisons must stop, because the world has changed so much in the last half century, and I’m seeing everything through my eyes—and not hers. Life has taught me to be cautious, to worry and be wary. I have lived through wars and political upheaval. I have seen the seamy side of life and learned how to be careful. That is something she isn’t worrying about right now, and neither did I way back then. For eighteen years you are in this transparent cocoon, built of your parents loving arms, and you want out. You want to be you—and parents, grandparents and guardians only muddy the waters from here on in. We understand that, but still we are so reluctant to untie that knot. We want to spare you the same hurts in life we experienced, but somehow, we know that you will have to live though them yourself because it’s all part of the growing-up process. For us to take the bullet for you will not work. It’s like a puppy playing with a bumblebee. The sting isn’t going to kill him, but it will make him a whole lot smarter.

So, just for tonight, I need to believe that your parents and teachers have you primed and ready for this and my foolish fears are unwarranted. That it’s time for all of us to now step aside. That tonight, we took the training wheels off for good, gave you a pat on the back, and a gentle push in the right direction. Now, as we watch you ride away, we will hope and pray for the best. We ask only that you will look back over your shoulder from time to time because, although we have stopped mothering you, we can’t stop loving you. God speed little one.