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The 5-Year-Old Graduate

by Wendi // August 2, 2009

This is a shortened, somewhat different version of my essay “The 5-Year-Old Graduate” that appeared in the Spring issue of HybridMom. It’s about my son Sam (now 7 1/2) graduating from preschool and how I was trying to not let my emotions rule me that day.

_______________

After a hectic morning spent slicking down rooster tails, the four of us headed to the church preschool for the big ceremony. With us was our close friend Sandra who was visiting from L.A., and I was counting on her to make sure I didn’t lose it and cry at the ceremony. If anyone was going to stay tough today, I knew it’d be my man Sandra.

Arriving at the church, we left an excited Sam in his classroom, then my husband Chris, son Jack, and Sandra and I entered the peaceful chapel where they’d be holding the ceremony. Already feeling a little nervous, I grabbed Sandra’s arm and sternly told her, “Don’t let me fall apart in there today. I don’t want Sam to look over and see me crying. I want him to know that this is a happy event, not a Greek tragedy in corduroys.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, shaking her head full of bright, red curls. “I got your back, baby. But want me to track down some Xanax, just to be on the safe side?”

“Um, no,” I told her as we walked over to the pews to sit down. “But thanks for offering to score drugs for me in a Lutheran church. I really appreciate it.”

I looked around at the rest of parents and relatives who’d come to watch their child graduate, and my head filled with questions. Would Sam be okay? Would he get scared? Would someone just completely lose it during the ceremony and start wailing “MY BAYYY-BEE! MY BAY-BEE!” while crashing headfirst into the cookie table? And if so, would that particular nut job be me?

Then to the accompaniment of “Pomp and Circumstance” and the flashing of a hundred digital cameras, a processional of 13 five-year-olds walked shyly into the church, each one trying desperately (and rather unsuccessfully) to remain quiet and not bump into the kid in front of them. Sam looked our way, gave us his cute, shy smile and tried to ignore his brother Jack’s yells of, “Hey, dere’s Sam! Dere’s Sam! HI-IIIII, SAAAAMMMMM!!”

The kids stood together at the front of the church and sang a lovely song, more or less at the same time, then their teacher Miss Pamela spoke in a quavering voice about the great year they’d just had and how she truly loved each and every kid. As she finished her touching speech, I took a calming breath, then surreptitiously did a quick crybaby check of the crowd. So far, nothing. The room was as dry as Sunday morning in Utah.

Next the church’s pastor got up, said something religious, then shook each kid’s hand and gave them their own bibles with fancy gold covers. I glanced around again, but still no tears within 100 yards. Not even from the atheists. Then came the part of the ceremony that I was sure would bring the crowd to their knees: the Power Point presentation. I nudged Sandra in anticipation and she gave me a “just maintain, girl” look in return.

As I watched the images of our adorable kids having the times of their lives flash on the big screen at the front of the chapel, I finally heard a few scattered sniffles from the right side of the room. Then a few more from the back. After I saw yet another precious image of Sam with his little buddies, my own resolve finally started to weaken, and I quickly took a deep breath. Before I could let it out, however, a tremendously loud Academy Award-winning wail suddenly reverberated throughout the room like a Georgia freight train gone off the rails:

“HUUUUHHH-HUUUHHHH–WAHHHHH!”

I immediately whipped my head around, eager to see which mom had finally cracked. Had it been Laura? Alison? Jeannie? Probably Jeannie. Everyone knew she was already borderline crazy, poor thing. But no, all of them seemed to be staying strong, so who was it then? Another choking sob now cut through the air. This time it was a little softer, but also a little more pathetic, too. Like the whimpering, gasping noise a dumped bachelorette makes when she’s just realized this is the last rose ceremony of her entire frickin’ life.

“MMMMMM…..GAH!!”

I quickly turned toward the direction of the sound, then immediately froze in my seat.

Two feet away from me, pathetically crumpled to the ground, was Sandra, wiping away tears as fast as her hands could catch them. She looked up at me and shrugged, then feebly squeaked, “Our baby Sam is ALL GROWN UPPPP!”

As heads started to turn our way, I put a fake smile on my face and quickly gestured for her to go away and compose herself before Sam wondered why his Aunt Sandra looked like she’d just escaped from a Guatemalan detox center. After she slunk away to the back of the church to cry without persecution, I shakily went back to watching the presentation. But now the pictures were even more cute and poignant, even more “guess what, parents, they’ll never be this age again,” and before I could help it, a twinge of sadness hit me. Hard. I quickly slammed my eyes shut, but unfortunately, the plane had already taken off, and one tear, one lousy little tear, ever so slowly rolled out of my eye and came to rest on my cheek.

And I let it stay.

Finally, the lights came up and the ceremony was done.  We hugged a happy Sam, then walked outside to the sunny playground where they’d set up a fancy black-Croc reception for the families. As Sam and Jack played with their friends, and Chris and that total pussy Sandra searched in vain for a drink stronger than apple juice, I wandered over to the empty tire swing for some solitude.

I sat there swaying in the wind and enjoying my hors d’oevres of Ritz crackers and carrot sticks, and realized that I was going to have to learn how to deal with these poignant moments in the boys’ lives a lot better than I had this one. I realized that I needed to  come to grips with the fact that, like it or not, they were growing up and leaving me a little more each day.

But for that moment, for those five minutes when I was precariously wedged onto a dirty tire swing eating crackers, I was just happy that I’d made it through our preschool graduation without crashing headfirst into the cookie table.

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Comments

  1. Beth says:
    August 2, 2009 at 5:12 pm

    Then again, crashing headfirst into the cookie table doesn’t sound half bad. What kind of cookies?

    Seriously, my boys have maintained little to no patience with any emotions I may have in regards to their growing up. They are so over it. If only the water-proof mascara were really tissue proof.

  2. ann says:
    August 2, 2009 at 5:17 pm

    Thanks for posting this. I’ve been curious to read it since you put up the Hybrid Mom Button.

    This is very timely for me, as I’m feeling the urge to clutch Five rather than send him off to Kindergarten.

    And yes, sometimes that clutch is more of a strangle.

    Nice article, and I especially liked your use of P*ssy and Apple Juice in the same sentence.

    (Had to use the asterisk in order to process my comment!)

    xo

  3. Sarah M says:
    August 2, 2009 at 5:40 pm

    Oh My gosh this was soo good!!!! I loved reading it and a little tear tried to come out as I remembered my own kids…But then I remembered the comment about ‘scoring Xanax in a church’ And I BUSTED UP!

  4. Akilah Sakai says:
    August 2, 2009 at 8:19 pm

    Damn! I was hoping you dropped like a sack of potatoes.

    My daughter’s Kindergarten class did a slide show and it really was too sweet for words. My son finished K. this year and there was no slide show! The horror!!

  5. DG at Diaryofamadbathroom says:
    August 2, 2009 at 8:29 pm

    One tear is respectable. Neither scarily emotional nor viking-like.

    Not me, I folded like a cheap suit when my kids graduated pre-school. Sobbed uncontrollably in a room full of parents that hadn’t yet taken the sticks out of their asses that day. Not a wet eye in the house, ‘cept for mine that cried projectile tears like they do in cartoons. Embarrasing? Maybe, but atleast I know that I don’t have to go visit the wizard about getting one of those heart thingies.

  6. the mama bird diaries says:
    August 2, 2009 at 8:31 pm

    Wendi – That was so funny and beautiful.

    And this… “I realized that I needed to come to grips with the fact that, like it or not, they were growing up and leaving me a little more each day.”

    I don’t know how any of us as parents are supposed to get used to that.

  7. Diana says:
    August 2, 2009 at 9:34 pm

    Beautifully written!

    Feels like you are telling the exact story of my daughter’s end of the year music show/graduation. Except I was the pussy.

  8. madmad says:
    August 3, 2009 at 3:38 am

    As you know, one of my favorites!

  9. jessica says:
    August 3, 2009 at 6:08 am

    Phoebe just turned 6 yesterday and since she is my only it is scary to see how quickly the years go by. No more preschool. By this time next year she should (better) be able to read pretty much the basics completely on her own.

    Great, now i’m crying. thanks.

  10. Lisa Rae @ smacksy says:
    August 3, 2009 at 8:19 am

    This is lovely.
    And, Dude. You are a pro. I didn’t even make it through the first eight seconds of the orientation video for the pre-school summer school class – not even footage of my own kid. (I think anytime they use that ukulele version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow I am automatically screwed.)

  11. lae says:
    August 3, 2009 at 8:24 am

    wonderful story. I was so sad when my youngest went off to Kindergarten that at orientation I was crying. Really crying. So much that his teacher let me know that it would be OK to stay with him the first day! But don’t worry my son would have none of that.

  12. Mwa says:
    August 3, 2009 at 2:50 pm

    My five year old luckily didn’t have a graduation from nursery, but I’m not sure how I’ll cope on the first of September when he’ll go to his big school in his new uniform.

  13. Rene says:
    August 4, 2009 at 3:26 am

    Looks like I’m the old lady in the crowd –but if you think this is bad, just wait until they walk down the aisle in high school…wait, make that college…no, it was the church at her wedding…forget it. IT IS NEVER EASY AND YOU WILL CRY EVERY TIME. It’s ok. It’s our job. It’s our privilege.

  14. Stephanie Smirnov says:
    August 6, 2009 at 2:23 pm

    Beautifulpost! I’m feelin’ ya big time. My son “graduated” kindergarten this year and I was a mess. Can I ask a question, though? I’m pretty sure I only graduated two and a half times — high school, college and (sort of) graduate school. When did we get so graduation-happy with the little ones? My kid’s six and he’s graduated three times already.

  15. Angie Atchley @VivoBello says:
    February 14, 2011 at 1:38 pm

    Love it. Been there. WAS that. (the 1st time) the others are much easier)

    Great storytelling!!

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