By David Himmel

Kindergarten graduations are not events I am comfortable celebrating. I don’t feel they should be considered events at all. There’s just not much worth celebrating because graduating from kindergarten is not an accomplishment. Show up, learn things through fun activities like coloring and games and songs, don’t pee or hit or bite the other kids too much and you’re golden. Conversely, college, high school, and even junior high school graduations are event-worthy celebrations because these matriculations acknowledge the child’s growth as an academic in spite of the social challenges presented during these formative years. And because of those social challenges, you’re also celebrating the accomplishment that they made it through it all in one piece.

Junior high is hormonal. High school is hell. College is where responsibility really matters. Kindergarten is hardly a rite of passage. Finishing up kindergarten does not make you the Class of 2024. That’s reserved for when you finish up the school’s complete academic program. I am not the Class of 1994 because that’s when I finished my freshman year of high school. If my parent bought me a balloon that said so back then, it would have been awfully confusing.

But here I am, sitting at my son’s kindergarten graduation. No, correction. They’re not calling it a graduation. It’s a celebration, which is much better. Semantics matter. I don’t think all schools made this wise choice. I’m in an auditorium where I sat through a Winter Festival performance and where I’ll sit through many more performances because he’ll be at this school until he graduates eighth grade and heads into high school. I’m sitting among the parents of my son’s peers as I’m sure I’ll do with most of them for the next eight years. Not a whole lot that’s going to change other than the kids’ height and attitude. And as I sit here, I realize why we have these kindergarten—and pre-school—celebrations: My emotions.

 Well, not mine alone. But the emotions of the parents.

Talking about graduations a while back at a family dinner, my Aunt Patti asked my grandmother, “Did you cry at my high school graduation?”

“No one told me I was supposed to,” my grandmother replied.

Things were different in the 1970s. My dad’s side of the family is also the WASPiest bunch of Jews you’ll ever meet. The Kindergarten Graduation is a product of the Helicopter Parent born of late-stage Boomers and front of the line Gen Xers. Those parents who needed to be connected to every single moment and emotion of their child’s life. Everything was a celebration. Kids don’t get trophies even when they lose because kids are wimps; they get them because the parents demanded it.

Is my son adorable up there with his hair combed just the way he wanted it in an ironed button down shirt? Of course. Are all the kids? Yep. Especially the one in a three-piece suit. Are we, the parents, proud? Absolutely. Because pride comes insanely easy to a parent. It’s also that parenthood makes us forget how time works. “I can’t believe my little baby is graduating from kindergarten!” Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you keep them alive long enough to learn to read and not pee on too many kids in class. Duh. But it feels like a lot. Time does pass fast. And our kids will always be our babies. And there’s just a different vibe in my guts when I think about having a child in number grades now. That’s way more kid then baby.

Like my grandmother, no one told me I was supposed to cry at this thing. But unlike Nonny, I did cry. A lot. In a lot of ways, I’m too sensitive for this world. And, really, I do think my boy Harry accomplished something worthwhile. He managed his way through the first quarter of kindergarten with a teacher all the kids and parents complained about. I laughed hard when Harry told me that his teacher was “mean.” “Buddy, if you think your kindergarten teacher is mean, you’re in for a world of hurt. They don’t get nicer,” I warned him. But he had a valid point. After she abruptly left early in the year, the horror stories from the parents came pouring out. It was a wild revelation. She was replaced by a wonderful new teacher the kids and parents all loved. I’m confident this changed the trajectory of his academic career for the best. He made new friends. He found his way through the social complications even six-year-olds face.

The first thing Harry said to me this morning was, “Dad, I’m proud of all you accomplished this year. You helped me get through kindergarten.” I responded in kind. “I’m really glad you’re my dad and I’m happy I’m your son,” he told me as crawled into my bed and settled into my nook. He’s a sweet, thoughtful kid. And this messaging was the same as in the song his class performed at this celebration.

It’s bittersweet. Because we don’t want our children to grow up. But we do. It’s our job as parents. Raise kind, functioning members of society. They can’t get to that point of they don’t get through kindergarten. But let’s be honest with ourselves. This graduation ceremony isn’t for them as much as it’s for us—the parents trying not to weep too obviously. Trying not to relive the past six years and predict the next twelve. It’s for us trying desperately to be in the moment because this moment is a big deal. It’s just not one making a big deal about in such a public way.

Then again, I now have this wonderful memory of Harry’s kind words to me the morning he wrapped up kindergarten. I have the memory of him smiling at me and his mom from the risers on the school’s stage as he sang his song complete with choreography. I have the memory of spending the day with a kid who was so happy with all he’s accomplished thus far. “I really like my life, Dad,” he told me a few times. I am fortunate. I am lucky. I am a parent. And that means riding the wave of ever-changing intense emotions.

Are we over celebrating? Probably. But is it a wonderful thing? Annoyingly, yes.