I’ve been laughing
at with people on Facebook for years. For lots of different reasons. It’s been extra hilarious to laugh at my friends posting pictures of their children’s preschool and kindergarten “graduations.” Because ha ha ha how ree-dick is it to ceremonialize these moments?
As recently as March, I was snickering at someone who was waxing philosophically about the transition from junior kindergarten to senior kindergarten.
But now I am not laughing. I’m holding a fully charged video camera and an iPhone desperate for some Instagrams of my own graduate and there’s nothing to take a picture of.
My first year as a parent to a school-aged child is winding down, so based on my reality which is shaped by Facebook and Twitter, I assumed I should prepare for some pomp and some circumstance. I was rolling my eyes thinking about it, but I was prepping emotionally for the end-of-year festivities.
Turns out that not much is happening for my three-year old who is graduating from her first year of preschool. Her school is acting like it’s no big deal to move from a three-year-old classroom to a four-year-old classroom. What the what? There’s no certificate, no ceremony, no nada. There’s not even a sheet cake from Costco. Tomorrow I’ll pick her up and we’ll go home for the summer.
What was the point? Why did we bother showing up day after day if the end of the year was never going to culminate in a giant trophy or a crown or something ceramic?
To be fair, there was a preschool night a few weeks ago that allowed us to oooh and ahhh over Sadie’s extensive “portfolio,” consisting of leaves gathered in the fall, pictures colored around the holidays, and flowers painted this spring. I confess there was a slide show. When they turned out the lights, I clutched a tissue, ready to catch the tears that would fall for my grief about the inevitable passage of time. Unfortunately, I never needed the tissue because I was too busy trying to find Sadie in the pictures. I damn near suffered an aneurism from all the squinting.
That was a nice evening of celebration, but it wasn’t a graduation.
This year, I’m not going to get to post that triumphant picture of myself with my little graduate. I’m going to have to wait until she’s four or even FIVE (gasp!) to have those iconic moments.
To ease the pain, I’m buying my own 3-foot by 4-foot sheet cake to celebrate. The inscription? Congratulations, Graduate.
(You know what I really wanted to call this post? Where the fuck is my preschool graduation? I didn’t because I am trying not to cuss and clean-mouth living is starting to gain traction.)