Graduation Day.
Growing up, I never pictured myself as a mother - I suppose because I reckoned I wouldn’t be particularly good at it. Sure, I'd be fine with the making dinner, doing laundry part (I do that anyway), and the being able to talk about stuff (I do enjoy a good chinwag) and the snuggles (who doesn't like a snuggle?) But I've always been out of step with the finer points of it, like the stuff real mothers are supposed to do.
For example, forcing my kids to learn a musical instrument - they tried it and it wasn't their thing, so they gave up. Or informing my kids, that they can only have screen time once they'd studied some MIT coding course for tweens - by the time they were tweens, they were already much more advanced than me - or ascending to the heights of being part of the parent-teacher association.
I actually really did try the Parent Teacher Association thing, but then there was an incident involving pizza slices and an unhinged PTA president accusing me of theft. There we were in the playground in front of parents and kids and PTA members. Outraged, she had demanded I count out the money in front of everyone. Her face got redder and redder, and her figure smaller and smaller, when her desired outcome of exposing my supposed thievery had instead transpired to exposing her as being vicious and incompetent. With an embarrassed laugh, she had muttered an apology for her difficulties with math, and I had looked her in the eye and said nothing - both of us knowing she had more that just bad math to apologize for. But the damage was done. From then on, I decided I would donate to my kids’ schools rather than volunteer, in the same way that I prefer to donate to charity rather than smack myself on the hands with a hammer.
But the thing is, despite never picturing myself as a parent, and not feeling like I have the invisible qualifications for professional motherdom, I am the actual mother of two real people. So even though the role doesn’t come easily to me, sometimes I have to take it on.
Like this week for example, because this week was Lachlan’s high school graduation. And he took to it like uhm… a duck to typing.
Lachlan is not a particularly pomp and ceremony guy and came into the world about 400 years old. Since he was around 16, he has preferred to get up and cook his own breakfast, which has totally worked for me as he likes to rise early, around 5.30am, to go for a run, or walk the neighbor’s dog, then look through his work for the day, before driving himself to school.
From the moment he first opened his tiny wee eyes, he has had an attitude of ‘don’t bullshit me’. This is the kid who led a full Spartacus-type rebellion in pre-school over Miss Betsy’s apparent audacity in trying to force him to eat peaches.
He is absolutely dependable in that if he says he will do something, he will do it, but he is also pretty single-minded, so if you want him to do something he doesn’t understand the point of, you will have your work cut out to persuade him. So Lachlan has found graduation week tricky.
“These guys talk about graduation like I'm throwing myself into a giant volcano. I'm not dying. I'll just not be going to school next week.”
“Graduation can be a big thing for people,” I say.
“That's fair,” he says, “But as grown adults, can they comprehend it’s not a big deal for everyone?”
I smile and say nothing and follow him into his room to pick out a shirt and tie.
“Like I am trying to be accepting. They want me to wear a gown and a hat? Fine. They want me to turn up for their endless rehearsals and brunches and picnics and proms and senior sunsets? Fine. But when they ask me what I’m going to do with my life, that’s not fine. Not fine at all. Because I’ve been so busy turning up to classes and delivering homework and meeting their endless deadlines about stuff I don’t care about, that I haven’t had that much time to think about it. In fact, the next time someone asks me what I plan to do with my life, you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to ask them what they plan to do with their lives. Because surely what a person actually does with their whole life doesn’t have to be decided when graduating high school. I mean, considering it’s your whole life you’re talking about here, shouldn’t it be a series of decisions over a period of time, based on the factors you see in front of you?”
Like I say, he is 400 years old.
“And I’ve accepted they don’t understand the college thing” …
(Lachlan has opted to go to trade school to train to be an electrician, and then to do a business degree somewhere along the way. His thinking is that he’ll always have a trade and then if he gets bored of being an electrician, he’ll still be able to set himself up in business as something else.)
…“But I am so over all of this. I just want graduation to be done.”
Now, here is where I have found it tricky, because I’ve felt somehow I’m failing as a parent, to not make a big deal about his graduation. Mark, clearly has not been reading from ‘the big imaginary book of parenting standards’ that I have, as he’s very much of the thought that Lachlan gets to choose how he wants to do things, as long as he’s respectful to the process. But I have felt my duty as a mother to make the occasion special, just like proper mothers seem to be able to do, though when I try to work out what special looks like, I really don’t seem to have an answer.
“Everything will be hidden under a gown. Why can’t I just wear shorts and a T-shirt?”
“Because you can wear shorts and a T-shirt any time. This is a bigger occasion.”
“Is it though?” he replied. “What did you do for your high school graduation?”
“That was a long time ago,” I said.
He looked at me sternly, and I knew there was no avoiding the subject until I answered. “Well, me and a couple of my pals went to the fish and chip shop in the village and got some chips.”
“Did you wear a cap and a gown?” he asked
“Uhm no.”
“So was there a ceremony?”
“Eh, not particularly.”
“So how did you know you’d graduated?” he asked.
“Because they sent me a letter in the mail saying I’d finished school,” I replied.
“That sounds brilliant,” he said.
“It was, I suppose. But that was a different time and a different country and a different world,” I said. “And even then, people would ask me what I planned to do with the rest of my life. And even then, I had no idea what to answer.”
He smiled.
“Ok, white shirt, black trousers. Black tie,” he said. “But just know, I’m doing this for you, and Dad, and Fergus, and because I know I have to accept my responsibilities. Even when those responsibilities are complete and total bullshit.’
“Brilliant,” I said, relieved. “And do you want to have a wee party here afterwards?”
He looked at me like I had just pooped in his hand, so I smiled a ‘just kidding’.
“Pizza,” he said. “Let’s the four of us go out for pizza?”
And that was that.
Now I would love to tell you that, henceforth from our agreement, the air was full of graduational excitement, but I’d be lying.
Lachlan wanted to drive himself to graduation, and was so late leaving I was worried they wouldn’t let him walk. I told him to text me when he got there to let me know everything was OK, and the text duly came, saying he was in plenty of time, because “Of course there was a whole load of bullshit waiting around.”
As Ferg, Mark, and I tumbled into our car, I was pretty sure we were not doing it exactly by ‘the big invisible book of how graduations should be done’, but we were all smart yet casual, we all had sunscreen on, and allergy tabs had been taken. Mark had taken a little longer than Ferg and I, as he had seemed to be arranging stuff in the trunk of the car, but in plenty of time we were off.
When we arrived at the graduation site, however, it turned out we were not as early as I’d thought. Some of these people must have been camping out overnight, and all the seats were claimed. I went to sit down on what seemed to be an empty chair, and a woman appeared from about half a mile away to inform me in no uncertain terms that all these seats were taken.
“All of them?” I said incredulously, “Who are you inviting here, your ancestors?”
I looked across to Mark, who shrugged and gestured for me to come and stand with him and Fergus in the shade.
“There are no seats,” I said.
“I know,” he answered, “But who wants to be sitting out there in the sun anyway?”
I was about to answer something about proper parents arriving in proper time, but he had pottered off, leaving Fergus and I by ourselves.
Fergus graduated high school during the Pandemic, so in that time everyone was trying to stay away from each other as much as possible. As I stood in the shade beside him trying to work out if I could see Lachlan or any of the kids I knew, Fergus leaned over and said, “Remember those pandemic-style graduations? Good times!” and I laughed out loud.
A few minutes later, our intrepid explorer Mark (Sven) Tweddle arrived holding our beach umbrella that doubles as wind cheater, and a cooler bag, and we literally set up camp on the grass to one side of the fancy chairs. It was certainly more Woodstock vibe than graduation, but it seemed to have a positive effect, as before long, we were part of quite a happy wee encampment, as people saw the sense of not roasting in the sunlight while they could be basking in the shade, and set up their own little areas.
As the graduation speeches began, I definitely felt that we were marking an unforgettable moment in time, although sitting on the grass alongside my two other reprobates, while sipping cold Diet Pepsi, exactly what type of moment, I couldn’t tell.
One of the many wonderful things about being married to Mr Tweddle is that he is the kind of guy who will bring a tent and a drinks cooler to a graduation. One of the negative things is that T is a lot further to the end of the alphabet than my original surname, hence why Lachlan was second to last to graduate.
By the time he finally went on stage to accept his certificate, many of those in the seated area had moved to the shade. The lady who was a proper mother and claimed all the chairs, sat with her ancestors who each had their heads under scarfs, or were wafting themselves with fans. One woman who had clearly had enough was blatantly sporting a whole cardboard box on her head.
But none of that mattered, because my opinionated boy, who is both a teenager and 400 years old, looked quite the picture as he crossed the stage, and shook hands with his teachers, and had his photograph taken with the school Principal. In spite of his resistance, and his anxiety, and his rage and discomfort, he showed up, and that more than anything made me proud.
Afterwards, having spotted our wee encampment, he came to find us. We were surrounded by a wee group of his friends, hugging and congratulating each other. And then Lachlan was keen to get home.
“You did brilliantly today,” I said, as we headed back to the cars.
“Thanks,” he said, “So did you.”
Later, we went out for pizza, and later still, Mark and I settled down for a night in front of the TV while Lachlan and a group of his friends hung out by the outdoor fireplace, making smores and talking about what they planned to do next. And though it was not at all bells and whistles, and there were no balloons or streamers or fancy cakes, it was truly very beautiful.
So, despite never really planning on being a parent, I have two sons who have made me one. Both my kids are no longer at high school because they are no longer children but men. Yet I am still their mother.
If you’d asked me if I’d known this was where I would be when I graduated high school, of course, the answer would have been no. But I am good with that. All of it: The not knowing, the getting it wrong, the finding some way to get it right. The surprises, the challenges, the right to make your own mistakes. Good choices. Bad choices. The sleepless nights of worrying, or sleepless nights of partying, or sleepless nights because everything feels frankly too exciting to even close your eyes. I want all of it for my boys, and know for sure, they won’t be afraid to find it.
This week was graduation week. For Lachlan, and for me.
Lynn
Xo
PS: if you click on this wee heart emoji to like this post, I will tell Lachlan. I can’t predict what his thoughts on that will be, but I can tell you that my algorithm will definitely be thrilled.
Now normally this would be the spot where I would tell you about my books, but not this week. This week I want to mention this movie Pilgrim, made by people who I both adore and admire. The script was written by daughter and father, the music composed by brother/son and produced and acted by mother/friend. These people are genuinely wonderful and anyone would be lucky to call them friends. If you’re feeling shit about the world, this is the sweetest wee movie to watch. If you’re in the US, it’s on Amazon, so you’ve no excuse.
Here is the AMAZON LINK for the US:
https://www.amazon.com/gp/video/detail/B0H3FVXHRL/ref=atv_dp_share_cu_r
ARTICLE about the making of PILGRIM From Movie Maker Magazine:
P. P. S: If you enjoy talking/listening/stories/ random facts, come and join me and Mr Tweddle at Fish and Bear. For details and booking, go to Fishandbear.net
