But it’s underneath where we find their aspirations and apprehensions
By George Valadie
Six in all was the total—at least for this year. In this new role as superintendent of our schools, I was blessed to attend six of our schools’ graduations this spring. I wanted to get to all 10, but conflicts and travel issues did what they do.
The best part was—without question—getting to see so many faces of joy. Pure joy. The innocent kind. Kids, moms, dads, family—and teachers. Most were born from pride, a few from relief.
One was particularly special, though, as we got to be there for our grandson Brady and his friends. His eighth-grade class’ photo will now reside in the same hallway where his mom’s hangs, not to mention that of his grandfather, grandmother, and great-grandfather.
Together, we’ll all watch over the classes yet to come. That part’s kinda cool, I won’t lie.
Nine years down, and now they’re headed to high school.
And I can hardly believe it.
It seems but moments ago he was in the womb, and we were laughing about all the baby stuff his mom and dad felt they couldn’t live without. Mostly his mom.
There were the 42 baby bottles and high-tech bottle sterilizer that sat on their counter and shamed the soapy dishwater we had used for her, her sisters, and our pots and pans.
I’m pretty sure the only sterile thing in any of our kids’ lives had been the delivery room in which they entered the world. After that, they lived in our house.
Where way too many times we all went on a late-night bottle search. “Here it is,” someone would exuberantly holler, retrieving it from the cushions of the couch. “OK, brush it off, fill that sucker with some Tab, and get it in here.”
Yes, we gave them Tab. As Brady now often says, “Don’t judge!”
My wife had also bought their first baby-to-be a wipes warmer—I kid you not—as apparently she felt it important to minimize the frigid shock on the little booger’s bottom. We laughed about how she was protecting him from the cold that would probably decrease his ACT score one day.
I guess we’ll find out soon enough.
He and his sister, Emma, were our first grandchildren, and with their births came the requisite births of our grandparent names. And that’s when Grumpy (me) and BB (Nancy) were also born.
It’s odd how this entirely different identity washes over you when a little voice calls your name.
“Hey, Grumpy, do you think we can … ?”
“Well, of course we can!”
When Brady was 3 and Emma a newborn, we all moved from Memphis at the same time. We came east back to our hometown of Chattanooga, and they went west to their dad’s birthplace in Houston.
Before the moves, we had gotten to baby-sit and hang out, play ball in the yard, and chase in the house. We were monsters during the day and dinosaurs at night. And we ate whatever we wanted for dinner.
But five years later, they moved again, this time to join us in Chattanooga. We knew we were blessed to have them so close but could immediately empathize with their other grandparents who had been forced to watch them drive away.
At that time, Brady was entering third grade. As mom and dad were still transitioning, I got to drive them to school on their first day in town.
Brady is the serious one, anxious about the unknown, nervous about where to go, people he hasn’t met, and would he be able to do all the work.
As best he could at age 8, he expressed his worry that school would be getting harder with each passing year. I in turn offered my best reassuring monologue about God and the miracle of the human brain and how much it can learn and how it’s not that it’s hard, it’s just that it’s new and on and on and on.
Deep down, I just wanted him to find a best friend. And learn how to be one.
No matter their age, moving up and on is a lot. For any young person. And that’s without any of the various misperceptions they already harbor compiled from bits and pieces of rumor they’ve heard mixed with movies and memes and whatever else from wherever else.
Exhibit 1: Brady’s aunt, our youngest, Sarah, absolutely dreaded college and dorm life for half her senior year when we finally discovered the source of her fear. She had been living with the belief that everyone had to take a shower in one big open space at the end of the hall.
But she made it. As will all these kids.
Because their parents have blessed them with a first-class education. More importantly, it’s one that includes the knowledge of where God is and how to find Him when they need Him. And they will indeed need Him.
Be it high school, college, or the long-anticipated career that awaits, Brady’s not the only graduate who’s ever worried about what lies ahead.
It doesn’t matter that we’ve lived through it; they haven’t. So, imagine the anxiety. New people to meet, new things to learn, new hallways to meander. Can I make the team? Pass the class? Open my locker? Will I be liked? Loved? Lost? Will I make a difference? Have a friend? Like the food?
“Grumpy, do you think I’ll be able to … ?”
“Well, of course you can!”
Dear God—Please bless all who now go where they cannot know. Amen.
George Valadie is a parishioner at St. Stephen Church in Chattanooga and author of the book “We Lost Our Fifth Fork … and other moments when we need some perspective.”