To My Kid, Who Graduates Tomorrow

preparing our kids for the world is only half the work

Note: as is our family’s custom, this kid has read and approved my sharing the following. (Postscript about that at the end.)

How it started:

First day of kindergarten

How it’s going:

Senior prom

To my middle kid, who graduates tomorrow:

There were times when we wondered if this day would come.

You fought so hard to be here, to stay here. 

Depression can be a life threatening condition, after all, and love and determination can only do so much. A truth I’ve confronted again and again.

Yet here you are, crocheting your own top to wear under your graduation gown because you couldn’t find one that you liked. Decorating your graduation cap. No pithy statements or ironic jokes for you. Just the word “love,” reproduced in the various handwriting of the people who treasure you, gathered from notes they wrote you over the last few years. Friends, family, therapists, teachers. 

This is who you are. Who you’ve always been. 

You’re the same age as the Sandy Hook kids. When the unthinkable thing happened, I wasn’t sure how aware you were. How does a child process something at age six that an adult can’t even get her mind around? That night I walked into your room and saw on your dresser a careful collection of materials, placed just so. The little wooden box that held the ashes of one of our dearly departed cats, ringed by decorative stones and silk flowers—every colorful bauble you could find.

A shrine, created by someone who’d never seen such a thing before. But you didn’t need a prototype. You never have. 

I wrote in a memory book years ago, “This kid seems destined to hear us say ‘You’re doing that the hard way’ way more than our other two, because the hard way is usually the most interesting way.” 

The world reveres people like you, even as it does little to nurture the qualities that make you who you are. Sensitivity. Individuality. Authenticity. Candor. Ours is a tough world to live in, especially for people built like you. We thought you and your siblings were daisies, but as you matured we came to learn you are orchids, each of you a unique variety. You require some special handling in order to thrive. You will find places to bloom, I know this, but it will take some discernment on your part, as well as trial and error (which brings a hitch to my throat to contemplate).  

So if you sense some mixed emotions from me this week—some trepidation that may come across as lack of confidence in these next steps—it has nothing to do with you. 

As caregivers, our job is to prepare kids for the world. 

I wish I’d done more to prepare the world for you.

I so desperately want the world to be as kind as you are. It can be. It really can be. But the truest thing I can currently say is that while individuals still have the capacity to lead from compassion, the systems currently holding sway in our world do not. Fear has made too many of us small and incurious and cruel. 

I want the world to be courageous in the way you are. Not blustering and brittle. Not sending masked people to grab people at work or school. Not cheering a line of Abrams tanks as they chew up a city street for an old man’s birthday. 

Instead, you embody courage that acknowledges the presence of fear and learns how to work around it. Courage that doesn’t demand certainty or comfort. Courage that bends and sometimes breaks but improbably blooms again. 

The world needs the kind of strength and compassion you’ve cultivated these last few years. But it won’t thank you for calling it forth, for insisting that the world be different. 

You have a sense of ambition and commitment to take what you’ve learned and become a psychologist yourself. When your dad and I joke-not-joke about moving to another country you say, “But people will need mental health support right here.” That mission and purpose will help sustain you.

And you’ve built a strong network of people who’ve got your back. Plus some surprises, people stashed away all over this world who’ll offer the support you need right when you need it. The mentor who challenges you, or who reminds you to be gentle with yourself. The imperfect ally who doesn’t know the “correct” terms or stumbles over pronouns but is kind enough to learn and care. The doctor who really listens. The friend who makes you belly laugh. The hurting person whose life you transform. The partner who cherishes you. 

All of them will write the word love in their own handwriting, which you’ll add to the ones you’ve already collected. And that will be enough. 

Happy Graduation. Steady on.

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Postscript: After this silly back and forth with the kid…

…Mel invites you, if you wish, to donate to 4 Paws Cat Rescue in honor of this milestone and/or the orchid in your life.

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What I’m Up To

The Art of Onward series for supporting subscribers continues with a synchronous gathering on Monday at noon EDT. Full schedule and details here.

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Link Love

In honor of Pride month: the moderate case against bans on healthcare for trans youth. Read and share.

The Moderate Case Against Trans Youth Healthcare Bans