Graduation Blues

Today my 15-year-old son graduated from middle school. Actually in the parlance of private, Catholic schools, he graduated from elementary school because he started there in kindergarten nine years ago and just finished up 8th grade. In August, he will start high school.

Right now, at almost 8:00 p.m., I am supposed to be at a graduation party. But I have pleaded exhaustion and a stomach ache, both true, but usually not enough to keep me down. But here I am at the computer keeping company with one of my two cats, and I am still working to process what has happened.

I have a son who's in high school. I have a son who stares me down, who fights with me over personal hygiene, over personal space, who tells me how to drive my car ("Mom, go!" when I dally at a changing light). I have a son who isn't even coming home after the party but spending the night at a friend's, then flying down to Santa Monica with three other friends and a dad, to spend a wild weekend seeing the sights at Venice beach. This boy of mine who's just barely 15. Who, the other night had to show me the three long and curly hairs he's grown under his arms as if to prove to me that he is really growing up. As if I didn't know.

I didn't cry at the graduation ceremony. I was ready to, when I thought Matt would win a prize. I thought he would win for best writer, for he is a marvel, or for sportsmanship as he is an awesome athlete. But he didn't win anything. He simply marched across the stage when his name was called, his face burnt and sunburned from the school's field day--a full day of sports at a local soccer field--when he forgot or just resisted putting on the sunscreen I had begged him to before he left. He kept his head down in the light of his father's and grandparents' digital cameras glinting, hiding a smile as he shook hands with the headmaster with whom he'd never seen exactly eye to eye.

I didn't even cry at the obligatory Mass the school held last week where they showed a video of the boys (it's an all-boys Catholic school) from way back in kindergarten where they were still wearing short pants and knee socks to the hulking adolescents that they are today, complete with nostalgic music. No, tears were far from my mind. All I have been thinking for the last two weeks is: I remember 15. I remember the equal parts desire, love, anger, hatred, joy, fear, and triumph I felt every day for a million reasons and how confusing it all was. I remember wanting to be in love, wanting to be the best; I remember thinking that no one had ever or would ever understand me because I was so freaking different from everyone else in the entire world. And here alone, I want to say to Matt, hey, bud, I understand. And it just keeps getting more confusing every day. But never ever forget that even when I'm screaming my head off over a towel on the floor or a lost retainer, I love you so much my heart will burst.

Congratulations, graduate!