Pomp & Circumstantial Evidence

And as our lives change, come whatever

Saoirse Pierce.

I cheered obnoxiously loud for my daughter, who was now disappearing on the stage, forever embarrassed by her dad. Maybe it was because her name was pronounced correctly, or maybe because we were beginning to conclude an overly long performance, but I was beyond excited for my little girl. She had officially graduated Kindergarten.

I had lost all memory of this milestone event more than three decades earlier in my life, and I had no idea this was a thing. But I get it—Kindergarten is legit. Reading, writing, no naps. I suppose it’s a celebration for the parents as much as the kids. We’ve made it a long way since that first ride home from the hospital. Now they are semi-functioning humans.

Saoirse (pronounced sear-shuh for all you normal parents) had been rehearsing for this moment over the past month, even picking out a special dress and practicing her recognition posture. For one of the most shy children on the planet, I was over the moon to see her excitement building. I obnoxiously played the music video for Graduation by Vitamin C on repeat while she gawked at the awful late ‘90s fashion. As I explained the concept of school lockers to her, I realized I didn’t really have any idea what to expect at this event either. But the very concept of watching more than a hundred 5-year-olds convene on a stage was reason enough to grab a ticket and a bucket of popcorn.

I entered the auditorium ahead of the family, charged with saving seats for the entire traveling hype crew. There’s really nothing that compares to telling a grandmother with a walker she can’t sit in your aisle, all in front of judging onlookers. As everyone started filling in, I looked around at the other families, wondering about all the poop stories and awkward public debacles each had experienced with their kids. We are all tied together in some chaotic, humankind way. We’ve all wiped baby vomit from our face, compared diaper prices and been woken up to night terror screams at 3:00 a.m.

Conversely, like many other parents, I’ve also imagined my kids much older, seeing them eat breakfast on the counter or jump in the pool years from now. They look and act the same, but all their mannerisms are magnified, including their eyerolls and laughs at my dad jokes. A part of me wants to jump to that moment, purely out of exhaustion and rationalism, but another tries to hold on to the present as long as possible, knowing full well the cuddles, tickle fights and shoulder rides are diminishing quickly.

All of this is racing through my head as I watch my daughter stand and wave as they read her name aloud. The pièce de résistance, though, was an accompanying photo of her on the auditorium screen wearing a bright red cap and gown. (Where does one find graduation apparel for children? Is that under the “Child Prodigy” section on Amazon?) While the boy next to her picks his nose and the girl behind falls asleep, my smiling little baby is growing up. I feel old, lucky, proud and sad—all at the same time. Kids make things so damn complex.

And that’s a good thing.