Graduating (and graduating some more)

My soon-to-be eighteen year old daughter is graduating today. While she knows it is an important milestone, the idea of graduation has been cheapened by all the previous ones. Nowadays, in our neck of the woods, children graduate from preschool, kindergarten, fifth grade, eighth grade, and now high school. Hopefully, there will be a couple more, for we expect her to finish college and graduate school. For her, this graduation is bittersweet, in that she leaves behind some friends, but she will also leave behind a school that she has outgrown, intellectually.

We live near the local schools, and traffic was a bit of a mess this morning as parents and grandparents were making their way to the high school gym, where the kindergarten ceremony was about to take place. The fifth grade graduation will take place today; the middle school held their ceremony last night. Indeed, folks who have several children or are related to those who do, have to shuttle around to several of these events. As a teacher, I attended quite a number of high school graduations, and as a parent, this makes seven graduations.

The ceremony tonight is almost secondary to all that goes along with it— establishing a bank account to deposit monetary gifts and to pay bills in college, going to goodbye parties, attending the senior breakfast, going to “Intro,” which is the program for incoming freshman at her chosen post-secondary school, and then moving out of our home. These transtional months are a pivotal time, and much of her future happiness and success will depend on what happens as she begins college.

Like Janus in classical mythology, this is a time to look forward, and to look back. We’ve gone through some pictures and other memorabilia, to decorate for her graduation party. As we looked though the boxes, we laughed at her kindergarten class picture and put back some really embarrassing yearbook mug shots. My daughter may not realize the momentous aspect of this hour of her life, but hubby and I do, so we will no doubt be a bit misty eyed, as we watch her pick up the diploma that acknowledges thirteen years of her life, and of ours.

Relics

For anyone reading this who doesn’t know, my father, who had been a widower for a number of years, died late last year, and I was named executrix of his will. In addition to doing quite a bit of paperwork, this puts me in charge of disposing of the personal property of the estate, which is a small farm, and toward that end, I’ve contracted with an auction firm to hold an estate sale. Knowing that I lack space, I spent quite a bit of time poring over what was left after my parents’ passed, looking for small things which would help me remember the good times we shared.

Shorty’s saddle will have to be auctioned away, as will most of the power tools, because I married a city boy and we don’t have a barn for such things. The 52 Ferguson tractor that I drove when I was twelve will go, as will my Dad’s 68 Peugeot. Even mom’s cookware is boxed up to be sold.

Daddy did some woodworking during his middle years, so I took one of the bowls he made on his twelve inch wood lathe. I also took some practical items from the kitchen, to augment what I already own. Mom was the secretary/treasurer at our church for more than two decades, and when she retired, they gave her some beautiful dishes, which go quite nicely with my dining room color scheme, so I got those as well. As expected, I picked up the photographs, a stack of framed prints as well as a few albums and one box of folks I don’t remember at all.

Some of the relics I took were of no value, but I wanted them nevertheless. The last check my mother wrote, which was to me, for a small sum. I don’t remember the reason for the check, but it was dated less than a month before she succumbed to the cancer that ravaged her body. Her college text books were still on the shelves, so I got her grammar book and literature books. My dad’s harmonicas and pocket knives represented different facets of his personality, so I took them as well.

In a box in a back closet, I found the formal dress my aunt made for me when I represented the Alpha Chi Honor Society at a college dance. Honestly, I can’t remember ever being that slim! From that same closet I grabbed my oil painting kit, so I could throw those horrible paintings away myself. My daughter wanted the Quiji Board. I never derived any insight from the that, so I rather doubt she will find it anything more than a curiosity. The chess set that my grandmother gave me was there, which was a keeper, of course.

It’s rather odd to think what items around here will be the “keepers” when we are gone, and our children go through this same process. I hope they want to keep copies of the books I wrote, if nothing else.