Our oldest son graduated from college last year. In the weeks leading up to this momentous event I didn’t contemplate much aside from the fact he was almost done. Finishing school, verifying he definitely would graduate, the ceremony, and then moving home were huge tasks. We celebrated the big day, made the big posts, and brought him home to figure out his next steps.
Not long after, someone I met asked about my kids. “My boys are in 7th grade, 10th grade, a freshman in college, a junior in college, and…finished with college.”
For the first time in my mom life, I’m not sure if the age of my kid matters to others like it matters to me. For 23 years, I have always described him by his age. First in those precious early days, then weeks, then months, then years, then grade. Suddenly, the way I’ve marked the passage of time with my son is no longer a helpful guide. A junior in college means something. But 23 and finding his way, in the LIFE grade? He’s newly adulting? That doesn’t really capture what’s happening.
Because what I want to tell them is that my sweet boy, who was once a giant 4 month old that weighed twenty pounds, is now 282 months old and 6’6”. That baby that would never hold his own bottle can now find his own job with absolutely no help from me. That boy who cried when his dad dropped him off at camp and turned around to watch him drive away now goes to business lunches. The boy who didn’t ever want a haircut now schedules his own appointments and even arrives early. The kid who rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath about my unreasonableness with chores now schedules his own oil change and checks on his grandmas. The boy who had to be bribed to babysit his brothers now shows up at their games, “Because I want to.”
I used to think that nothing would compare to that first year of a child’s life – all of the firsts that are so big and important. How could anything compare to that? And then you watch them go to kindergarten and it’s just amazing. Then they spend time away from you at camp and you can’t believe it. They graduate from middle school, high school…and you are so proud. Those steps across the stage to get a diploma are every bit as exciting as those wobbly steps he took from his dad’s arms to my arms.
Watching him this last year has been as breathtaking as the first year. He moved away, transferred schools, found his own place to live, bought a dog, navigated a new city, dealt with a car wreck, proposed to his girlfriend, graduated, moved home, contemplated life overseas, looked for a job, looked for an apartment, and started over again. We talked to him, we checked in, we made ourselves very available for the conversations. But ultimately, he had to do these things himself: Take the risks; make the mistakes; and figure it out – on his own.
It’s really not much different than what we did with him 23 years ago. We’re still cheering him on and clapping, teary eyed and mesmerized by what he’s doing – and still fascinated by where the next steps might lead.
How old is my oldest? He’s 282 months old, and we couldn’t be prouder. He’s old enough to take his first big steps and young enough to quickly recover when it stumbles. Except this time instead of taking wobbly steps to me he’s taking confident steps into his future, still smiling and turning around to see if we’re watching.
