A round of applause for Mom and Dad

By TAD BARTIMUS

Vacillating between my grandmother's dainty necklace or a certificate at the T-shirt-and-khakis store you love, it finally sinks in that I'm choosing a gift for your graduation. You are leaving us. With cheers and presents we are launching you into a world where we won't follow.

When we first saw you, you were a stubborn towhead carefully explaining to us disapproving grown-ups why you weren't wearing shoes. Your logic won the argument and should have tipped us that you'd become a champion high school debater. But back then we couldn't even imagine you in high school, let alone gone from it.

Image Copyright © 1996 PhotoDisc, Inc.

Graduation day connects all the dots and we see the whole journey back over your shoulder. Your brother's dots were in a straight line; yours look like rick-rack. More curious, more rebellious, more visceral, you risked more often and fell harder. We held our breath through the much older boyfriend, the fender benders, the experimentation. We sat at the kitchen table as your Mom wiped tears while trying to figure out how long to ground you for a particularly scary escapade. We sat on the porch with your dad as he struggled to articulate why he thought giving you the chance to make your own choices, even wrong ones, would equip you with the coping skills you'd need when they weren't there to nurture you. There was no choke chain at your house, only a light leash.

It has come out all right. You have a nearly 4.0 grade average, a fistful of scholarships, a loving and generous nature and a true sense of who you are. How, in a time of Columbine and Conyers, did you walk through the dangerous, sometimes deadly, fires of your teen-age years to finish with such a triumphant flourish?

There are many reasons, but No. 1 is your parents. Both have been 100 percent engaged in your life since the day you were born. You are not one of the millions of children in this country trying to cope with rotten family conditions that rob them of their chance to become, in the words of a recent survey, "productive, adult participants in the mainstream of America's future."

The 1999 Kids Count poll, sponsored by the Annie E. Casey Foundation, revealed one in seven of our children face at least four of six major risk factors which can derail adult success. The survey cited growing up in a single-parent household; with parents who lack a high school education; with parents who don't have full-time jobs; living in poverty; relying on welfare, and not having health insurance. Your parents have worked to make sure none of those risk factors apply to you.

Further, they never missed a school event in which you or your brother were involved. They were the backbone of the parent-teacher group. They didn't just show up for special school occasions, they cooked and served at potlucks, hammered parade floats, set aside their own personal wants to afford what you needed to participate. They never hesitated to pay for your friends who were from high-risk families and would have gone without if your folks hadn't come up with the money.

Most of all, your parents always knew who your friends were, even if they sometimes didn't approve of them. Ever watchful, they let you find out about character on your own. They encouraged you every day to talk to them, to share with them, even when you were angry and yelling "I hate you!" -- the three worst words a parent can hear. You and your brother always came first. The rest of the time they worked 14-hour days to support you, made sure you were protected in sickness and injury, and were always open to hosting your friends in your home.

Your parents aren't perfect, sweet girl, but they taught you that, too. It's a valuable lesson as you make your way in an imperfect world where we all have to deal with topsy-turvy emotional and economic times. But your life up to now has been built on your parents' unconditional love. That is the best present you'll carry away with you from graduation; it lasts a lifetime.

© Copyright 1998-2000 The Women Syndicate. The content on these pages is the property of The Women Syndicate and may not be used without express permission. Contact friends@tadbartimus.com