It's graduation time, and a memory surfaces ...

This morning, as always, I went into my son’s room, turned on the light, and gently told him it was time to get up for school. As always, he turned toward the wall in an effort to avoid the bright light and cling a little longer to the warm fuzziness of sleep. As always, I sat on the edge of his bed and scratched his back for a few minutes, telling him again gently that it was time to get up for school. He slowly stretched and groaned, as he always does, and then opened one eye while squinting the other to look at me. As is our ritual, I kissed his forehead and told him to get up and get in the shower, because I had to leave for work and I wanted to make sure he was truly awake and out of bed before I went. He mumbled, “I’m up” and promptly rolled back over, away from the light and his pesky mother.

This is where we broke with tradition. Instead of standing up and, not so gently this time, telling him I really had to leave and he really had to get up, I stayed sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing his back and leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. At this he rolled back over and looked at me suspiciously — this wasn’t normal.

And I said to him, “Today is the last time for your whole life that I will wake you up for school. I’ve done it for 13 years now, every single school day, and this is the very last time. Starting next fall, at college, you’ll wake up to the beep-beep-beep of an alarm clock, or the blaring of the radio. I’ll never get to do this again.”

He looked at me, rolled his eyes, and said, “Oh, brother. Don’t go and start crying, Mom.” I told him I was saving all my crying for tomorrow night, when he graduates from high school. He opened his eyes wide in mock horror and said, “You’d better not!” and laughed. Then he said, “Come on, Mom, get a grip. It’s just another day.”

I stood up then and turned to go to work so he wouldn’t see the little bit of shininess in my eyes. He would only laugh and make fun of me; he didn’t have a clue how these landmark turning points could make a parent so happy and so sad at the same time.

But then he grabbed my hand and kissed it, and when I looked at him in surprise he gave me a little wink.

Then, as always, he hopped out of bed and into the shower and, as always, I went on to work.