Class of 2026

 Hi, baby thing. Today, you graduated from high school. You got yourself up at 4:30 in the morning, got dressed, got your parking pass, had your cords and cap and gown all ready, drove yourself to the auditorium, parked, rehearsed, graduated, hugged your friends, hugged your teachers, and then drove your own car and met us out for brunch.

That slew of activities – none of which required any additional help on my part – got me thinking about all the things, big and small, that you have done over the past four years and how much you’ve grown.

Since freshman year, you  went from age 14 to 18. You went from riding the bus to driving a car. You went from “one of trumpets” in marching band to becoming a leader and someone the younger peeps looked up to. You found theater and stole the show in multiple ways – including taking over a last-minute role that included a solo and full dance number. You dealt with challenging teachers (bless their hearts) and had some amazing experiences with others, especially because you are the kind of kid that they love, remember, and go out of their way to encourage. You made art, so much cool art, and found your point of view in multiple different mediums.

You made friends. You busted your butt in classes, especially junior year. You had heart attacks (literally and figuratively.) You had crushes. You figured out who you really are and had the courage to become even more yourself. You learned how to do things in the way that works best for you and to ask, without apology, for what you needed.

You fed yourself breakfast. You put gas in your car. You took your kid sister to school as well as to Brewsters to get the gossip. You went to homecoming and to the prom and to late night Waffle House. You travelled the world, thanks to school trips (and by “the world,” I mean Disney World, of course, where you rode all the Star Wars rides before Daddy did.) You painted a mural in the library. You aced IB Lit. You got a fat scholarship and graduated with a huge tangle of cords around your neck. And if that wasn’t enough, you even went to go vote for the first time today, even though you’d been up since 4:30 for graduation.

The bittersweet thing about raising a kid is that one of the core goals is to teach them to function without you. You hold them up and feel so proud of them for every step, even while you know (and secretly hope) they will leave you in their dust. Their job is to beat their own path, and your job is to pay for the shoes they’ll do it in – from booties to cleats to black Converse high tops.

Oz, watching you walk through the world so far has been an unmitigated joy. You are one squared away little dude, as your father once said, and I have no doubt you’ll have a rich and beautiful future. I am grateful I get to be your mom, grateful to have you as my kid, and grateful I get to marvel at you being you, and I hope you know without a doubt how much we love you.

And when you’re ready for that next pair of shoes?  Kiddo, just call.

I know your size by heart.

You just need to tell me the style and color.