It's almost time. Time for you to move past us. Time for you to walk away from the life you've had up until now. Time for you to create a future that is uniquely yours. Time for me to let you. And as I watch you struggle to navigate this sea change, I feel a little guilty. Not because I haven't done my best to get you here, but because what I did has been hard for you. We've required a lot from you -- a job, good grades, hard classes; no matter what you were involved in, you were expected to keep it all up and pay for it in the bargain. You feel cheated, and I don't know that I blame you.
After all, this is one case I didn't put into practice myself what I required of you. I didn't have a job in high school thanks to a little-known quirk of the Social Security system. The year after my dad turned 70, I had my sixteenth birthday. Since I was still living at home and a minor, Social Security sent me $400 every month until I turned 18. The upshot was that I had gas money to burn and a pretty healthy college fund to boot. And I didn't work a day. You, however, have had to work since you were 14. Since then you've paid for phones, gas, band tours, student council sweaters and slightly stinky trumpets. You've saved money for college and contributed to the Mercury Milan Repair Fund by sacrificing time with your friends to become the longest-employed sandwich maker at the Gas 'n' Go. Through it all, you've kept up your grades, applied for scholarships, and made it home for curfew. And you've hated it. You've done it, but you've hated it. And this is what makes me so, so very proud of you.
Now, we've arrived, almost, at the beginning of a new chapter. As hard as it has been for me, I'm coming to understand just how tough it is for you. Letting go of things we've loved is never easy. Right now, we are asking you to start gathering up all the shapes of your childhood so you can sort through them and decide which ones you will carry with you and which ones you will put down, knowing that one day they will be indistinguishable on the path behind you. You feel like you haven't made some of them significant enough because there wasn't time. You regret that you couldn't enjoy many of them more. You want to hold on to all of them for just a little while longer because the alternative is big and scary and inevitable.
You can't.
The truth is, we all feel this way about the things we've had to let go. Every adult who was ever once a kid has experienced the same sense of regret, and not just about growing up, either. We've felt it about not enjoying the time all our kids were small or about not choosing a career that fit or about our relationships with our own parents. Or because we required our teenagers to have jobs. It's being human that causes it, and you're coming up on some seriously good parts of that. College, marriage, family. Independence, freedom, growth. The best of the best. The thing is, it comes at a cost; you'll experience some of the worst, too. Heartache, loss, discouragement. Times when your footing becomes so shaky that it seems the world tilts around you and there's nothing good in the universe. It's then that you'll need all the things you didn't want to learn.
The times you got stuck making sandwiches for wrestling teams 5 minutes before close? Patience. Those payments you made to the finance office? Perseverance. The band season that didn't go well? Watching your friends play all summer without you? How to deal with disappointment. We know it was hard to keep your grades up and still have a social life, but it taught you how to budget your time and set priorities. It wasn't lost on us how our expectations for you may have differed from the ones placed on your friends by their parents. But you met them. Exceeded them, even. And you learned how to perform under pressure.
I wish I could save you the hurt I've learned comes with growth. But I also don't. I want you to struggle and fail and experience consequences with your bad choices. They'll make you. I want you to experience loneliness and boredom and stress. Not as a way of life, but so you can manage them. I want every good and beautiful thing for you; I want you to reach deeper and stretch farther to tap the wellspring of potential I see in you. I would never deny you your right to choose any of it. That also means I can't deny you your right to pain.
I know this hasn't always been the type of support you wished we had given you. But believe me when I say it hasn't been easy for us, making these decisions that have framed your life. Your dad and I have debated every choice we've made; I've revisited the big ones more times than I can count. And sometimes we've been wrong. My great hope is that, one day, when you look back on it all, you'll see that it was enough. Stability. Hope. And the knowledge that you were loved. So. Loved.
Who you are so far wouldn't have been accomplished with a monthly Social Security check you didn't earn. Who you're going to be will contribute a lot of amazing to the world -- I can feel it. It's HAPPENING. And part of it will be because of the things we didn't do for you. I expect a thank-you note.
Love it!
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