The complicated reality of parental pride

Of graduation, honor cords, and successes not yet seen.

Owen, my fourth child and lastborn son, graduated from high school on Sunday.

The ceremony was as full of pomp and poignancy and parental pride as the previous three I’ve attended as the mother of a graduate, with the addition of a not-previously-experienced detail: those golden cords around Owen’s neck, indicating that he graduated with honors.

I wasn’t particularly surprised that my three eldest kids didn’t carry the same distinction around their necks on graduation day. We’re a family of contrarians and go-your-own-way sorts; my own high-school grades were average at best and I never finished college.

Having made my own way in the world since with a fair amount of quote-unquote “success,” I just didn’t fret too much about what my kids’ high-school performance might mean for their futures. And with a certain level of “Eh, you’ll figure it out one way or the other” sentiment coming from my direction and a lack of intrinsic drive surrounding academic accomplishment, it’s not surprising my older three didn’t feel particularly compelled to kill it in the GPA department.

That makes me particularly proud of Owen’s honor status. He worked really hard, not only because he was capable but also because he wanted to.

But, as I wrote in this thread:

I'm also proud of my three older boys who made it through high school in their own unique ways - sometimes, admittedly, by the skin of their entire family's teeth - and I'm realizing there isn't really much cultural recognition for the sort of pride one feels when a late bloomer finally finds his groove years after high school ends, or when a kid struggles through enormous, often unseen challenges just to make it through.

I’m in an interesting place right now, where enough time has passed since my two oldest sons finished high school that I can see much more clearly how complicated the process of growing up can really be.

The path from passing this first big milestone to true adulthood is much less linear than the tidy narrative presented by a graduation ceremony might make it seem. Looking out at the hopeful faces of 236 graduates on Sunday afternoon, I was acutely aware of how difficult it had been for some of them (and their parents) to be there in the first place. And I knew that for many others, the struggle was just beginning.

I’m so proud of Owen. He fought through difficult AP and honors’ classes, late-night study sessions, mind-numbing assignments and the exhausting feat of keeping it all mentally organized.

And yet, I’m also proud of other kids — both mine and those of other mothers — for whom achievement has come later, for whom lessons have been hard-learned, for whom the obstacles have been much more treacherous. Those whose success stories may include details too private and painful to share. Or for whom “success” includes more everyday achievements without a lot of fanfare.

Some of those kids will fight through obstacles, then go on to do extraordinary things. And some will simply live ordinary, but tremendously valuable lives filled with service and hard work and friendship and family—all the things that make a life worth living.

Honor cords for them all; and for all of us mothers who have bought the pens and the poster boards.

Those of us who’ve cheered them on as they sprinted toward the finish line - or dragged them over it.

And for those of us who’ve wept, and loved, and continued to hope for an easier future we can’t yet see.