I am officially a father to a high school graduate.
It’s crazy the amount of emotions encased in those 10 simple words.
If I’m being honest, it has taken me a while to write this. Despite wanting to since before he walked across that stage, I couldn’t. It’s been hard to find the words to express everything I’ve thought and felt. Finally, I realized why: part of me feels selfish over my feelings.
Of course, I am immensely proud. I felt pride rise in my chest like never before. I felt it physically, not just as an emotion. But there was also a shadow of selfishness that crept in.
Outside of a few parent-teacher conferences, trips to preschool, and dropping my son off at Kindergarten a handful of times, my involvement in his education has been minuscule at best. We’re talking over 12 years of homework, class projects, studying for tests, spelling words, and practicing multiplication tables. I never got a chance to be involved in any of it.
Being nearly an hour away most of those years, including being over an hour away a few of them, meant there were difficulties with being involved in things I typically would have been. I craved the involvement, but it rarely worked logistically, without me coming across as selfish, which is the opposite of what I’ve always tried to be with my kids. I’m a father, and selflessness is part of the job description.
It has been a struggle and a weight I’ve borne throughout his entire educational career. Even school functions or sporting events were a struggle. Not knowing other parents or having the opportunity to be around and become familiar with his friends made me a bit of an outcast.
There were other variables at play within all of this, but ultimately, instead of fighting a battle I’d inevitably lose, I chose to do the one thing I had full control over: concentrating on my son.
If you saw me at an event, be it a sports banquet, a soccer or baseball game, a track meet, or even an academic team competition, I was there for one purpose and one purpose only: to support my son.
Looking back, while it would have been an uphill battle I likely would have never won, I regret not taking more time and putting in more effort to know at least 1-2 parents and my son’s friends. Fortunately, in recent years, I’ve been able to make up for some of that, meeting, learning, and interacting with a number of my son’s friends, but I still regret not doing more.
I never got a chance to help him learn to spell words, to help with a paper, to drop him off at a friend’s house, or to a school dance. I never got to be the cool dad who would make a late-night pizza run or the parent who reassured him when a test didn’t go his way.
I have a countless list of things I never got a chance to do, and until now, while it was likely never going to happen, there was still a chance it could. Now that my son has graduated high school, and we’re moving onto the next phase of life and closing the book on the previous one, those “what ifs” and “never got a chance” turn into missed opportunities and things that I never had a chance to do. There is no longer a sliver of possibility or potential. The book has closed on those.
That reality hit me like a ton of bricks the day my son graduated. The realization of so many things, so many things other parents take for granted or even complain about, have now faded into the winds of time, slipping out of my hands, never having an opportunity to touch them.
Watching the graduation ceremony was nearly an out-of-body experience for me. I was there, but I wasn’t. I was immersed in the moment, but one step to the side. It was honestly the only way I could get through it. Yes, tons of emotions, I fully and completely admit. And I did have the typical emotions you’d expect: pride, happiness, a bit of sadness. All those standard emotions you’d expect from a parent.
Those weren’t the ones that stuck with me after, however. Those weren’t the ones that crept up on me unexpectedly as we sat in our seats waiting for the first notes of Pomp & Circumstance March No. 1.
It struck me as I was sitting there, selfishly, that most of the people watching these teenagers walk across the stage and receive their diplomas had a hand in it. They helped their kids learn to spell words or finish a science project. They were there to help with math homework or work on their first actual paper. They were involved in their kids’ educational lives from kindergarten to this moment, and I was sitting there, realizing all the opportunities I never got to help, and now never would.
I found myself sitting there, selfishly, feeling almost like a fraud. I didn’t have a hand in my son receiving the honors and awards he was receiving. I didn’t have a hand in any moment of his education. He never had homework that needed to be done when he was with me, and if he did, he took care of it and never needed my help.
And as his name was announced, and he walked across that stage, it hit me that what once was a potential was now a never.
Yet, amidst the swirling thoughts and emotions, there is something powerful that stands out. Despite all the missed opportunities and regrets, my son has made these achievements. He has navigated his educational journey successfully, even without my constant presence. That is a testament to his strength and character, something I am immensely proud of.
As we move forward into this new chapter, I am determined to be more present and involved. As time has moved on past graduation, I’ve slowly gained the realization that graduation marks not an end, but a beginning. A beginning where I can strive to be there for him in new ways, support him in his future endeavors, and create memories that we both will cherish.
To my son, I am proud of you beyond words. Your graduation is a monumental achievement, and it is just the beginning of the amazing things you will accomplish. I may not have been as involved as I wanted to be, but know that my love and pride for you are boundless. Congratulations, my high school graduate. Here’s to the future and all the wonderful things it holds for you.
