Not Your Average Business Blog Post

My daughter, who I’ve written about multiple times in this blog and in my book, graduated from high school yesterday.

It’s been a long, hard road — academics and testing don’t come easy to her, and even though this child’s gifts lie elsewhere, I am so, so proud of her. She made it, and while none of us are exactly certain what paths she may decide to trod, for now, she’s decided to take a bit of time and to figure out some things. That’s her adult decision.

For the past 18 years, I’ve run her life. I’ve chosen almost all of her decisions for her and made sure that she had what she needed, even if it didn’t include some things she may have wanted. My husband and I know that our daughter is sensitive, alternately shy and bold, very smart, periodically wracked with anxiety, wildly talented and headstrong. She has a heart unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and most people don’t or won’t know that because she doesn’t let them in.

Yesterday, as we sat in uncomfortable coliseum seats awaiting the beginning of the graduation ceremony, I looked around. I saw people like me, there to cheer and shout for the young person they were connected to. I saw families of all sizes, ethnicities and backgrounds, some with signs or flowers and stuffed bears, awaiting the moment the students began to file into the space.

There were 900+ graduates in my daughter’s class and when they finally all walked in and sat down, I was awed by the sea of green caps and gowns. There was so much life and excitement and energy running through the space.

And then it hit me…

I’m one of the lucky ones.  We made it through a heart condition, ADHD, a major geographic move, COVID, schooling from home, endless arguments about clothes, phones and activities, a few of her profoundly poor choices, and all the things involved in the process of stretching taught those apron strings. I thought sometimes she’d break me.

As I looked at the podium, the caps and gowns, and the thousands of people around me, I thought also of the parents of children from Uvalde, Texas. Parents who will never know the absolute frustration of arguing with their teenage daughter about shorts that are too short, worrying about how their first date is going, or gripping the passenger side door as their newly-permitted driver takes the wheel.

They will never know what it’s like to wait for their child to walk the stage and take their diploma.

I felt a tsunami wave of grief and anger wash over me as I sat in the hard plastic seat. It’s not right. It isn’t fair. Our children have become prey to be hunted in their classrooms, and somehow, like the frog in a slowly heating pot of water, we’ve accepted it.

Lock-down drills, armed officers, metal detectors and one-way doors have become part of our parental life. How did we get here? Why is it so hard for the people who write and enforce our laws to actually enact and enforce laws that protect our babies?

What could possibly be more important than the right of a parent, every parent, to hear their child’s name at graduation?

The answer should be nothing, but it’s not.

I see politicians flailing their hands and offering thoughts and prayers, time after time, and doing nothing. I see more “breaking news” and body counts. I see slick pundits offering trite platitudes and self-serving sound bites, and it makes me sick with rage.

What could possibly be more important than the right of a parent to hear their child’s name at graduation?

Nothing.

LB Adams and Practical Dramatics, LLC are supporters of Moms Demand Action & Everytown For Gun Safety.