My first-born child, now 18-years-old and a young woman, graduated from high school this week.
The actual ceremony was fun, jubilant and moving, the importance punctuated by the presence of both her grandmothers who came on a pilgrimage from far off distance to witness the occasion.
Parents of my daughter’s classmates and I have been congratulating each other from before, during, and after the event, proud and relieved in our children’s accomplishment, and glad to know they have a future beyond playing Xbox and hanging out on the benches in Brooklyn Bridge Park.
But who should get all the credit for our kids’ success?
On the one hand, I feel like my girl did the work, so I give her the credit.
But on the other hand, I get why the parents are saluting each other. We each have contributed to our children’s success, feeding and clothing them, nursing them through illness and injury, cutting, pasting, driving, and showing up to so many games and performances.
As a parent, I get many rewards but little recognition, particularly as my children get older and appear to be more independent, self-sufficient creatures. My job, like that of trainers or the stylists or the roadies at a concert who make celebrities look so good, is to help my daughters perform their best without ever receiving any accolades for my contribution.
I’m sure I owe my own mother credit for each and everything I’ve accomplished, and equally certain I give her less thanks than she deserves.
Someday, when my graduate is applying for her first real job and I help edit her resume and take her to buy her first business suit, I will join the chorus singing her praises when she gets hired.
Giving up the credit for my daughter’s accomplishments is just another part of the long, slow process of letting go, recognizing that no matter how I contribute, her life is her own, kudos or criticism.
Really, then, when I pat another parent on the back, saying “Good job,” I’m acknowledging the work they’ve done all these years, that I remember those looks of exasperation and concern we shared during the early morning drop-offs for rehearsal or practice. It is sort of a secret handshake, a wink, and a nod to all the time, emotion, and effort we have invested in our children’s lives. It is a way of saying to the parents, on the side, “I know our kids didn’t do it quite on their own. I know the secret, and we should feel really good about all we’ve done as parents.”
But we will be very quiet about it.
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