Senior year starts like any other: our teens wake up late, scramble to find “clean” clothes crumbled on their bedroom floor, drive themselves to school, and just (kinda) exist in-between pieced together family dinners. As normal as the start of my son’s last high school year was, there is no doubt that this year has ushered in a whole new era of parenting for us.
Long gone are the “baby years” of midnight feedings, daycare bills, and constant manual labor to satisfy all of our son’s basic needs. The work now is far more mental and emotional. And, as any parent of a young person approaching the end of their high school years can attest to, the reality of the impending, upcoming endings can slap you in the face all of a sudden. It did for me this week.
As I attended two “Senior Nights” – one for our high school’s soccer program, another for my son’s wrestling team – I came away feeling the odd combination of pride and nostalgia, hope and “oh sh*t”.
Nights like these are truly “all the feels” parenting moments – sadness, joy, fear, disbelief.
Yep, I felt them all.
Like, the immediate sense of pride for the community that has formed around these young people being recognized. The attendance at these Senior Nights was (at least) double that which I’ve seen for another conference event. The stands were not only filled with our kids’ friends and classmates, they were dotted with parents of seniors not playing but just there to support those being honored.
I felt gratitude.
From the volunteer parents setting up – picking up boutiques of flowers and balloons during their lunch breaks and/or spending the pregame lining up parents and kids – to the coaches whose hourly wage is criminal by this point in the season, I felt (and still feel) a sense of overwhelming appreciation. I am humbled every time I think about the lifelong impacts these moments provide our kids, all due to work of coaches and volunteers that give so much time and effort for very little (or, let’s be real, nothing) in return.
I came away surprised at how involved kids could be in their school.
During the soccer ceremony, in particular, each athlete’s off-the-field accomplishments were celebrated. I hadn’t before realized there were clubs like puzzle club, robotics, Students Against Destructive Decisions (SADD), or multiple Honors’ Societies. After attending each ceremony, I immediately came home and told my two other high school kids to join a club. That is, it seems, where the memories are made (other than on a field of play).
Hearing each senior’s accomplishments and future plans made each feel like an adult. That each athlete was standing in front of their peers as a result of a series of decisions made over the past four high school years, not because their parents made them.
Lastly, I’m beginning to feel a sense of urgency – one that I feel totally unprepared for. Not only must I get my act together preparing for my senior to graduate (planning all that goes along with that), I am feeling pressure for my son to decide what he plans to do post-high school. How can I squeeze in a few more father-son moments before he is on his own? I likely won’t. Yikes.
But, before I get too worried, I was reminded on Senior Night that my senior is more than capable. His convincing 15-0 technical fall on the mat, for sure, tells me that he can figure it out. No matter how nostalgic I was feeling – remembering my little senior throwing tantrums in the checkout lane, or the time he threw out a school disciplinary note, or visiting him at school lunch in first grade – on Senior Night, I wasn’t at all weepy or overly emotional.
For the first time, I felt led to this moment by my son. This was his deal.
“We’d arrived.” That was the final feeling that washed over me as my son, my wife, and I smiled for the crowd.
I guess he’ll take the lead from here on – and he’ll be fine.
