A World without Children

Parents have rites of passage paralleling and shadowing their children's. We're going through two big ones at the same time: eighth-grade and high school graduations. Each of these is spawning some graduations of another kind for us as parents.

Our eighth-grader will graduate in a couple weeks. Thursday night he played guitar at the school's annual music recital, where all the kids attending school-related music lessons play for the parents. Forty-three children, ranging from first to eighth graders, gave short performances on their instrument. He did great, playing "Time of Your Life" by Green Day; his teacher called the next day admiring the "passion" he played with.

We had fun, but it was quickly over - maybe too quickly. Significantly, this was our final elementary school program. As we walked through the doors, we were leaving behind the World of Children.

Our son of course left it behind a while ago, but since his school is K-8, we still had some vestige little kid exposure from time to time. At school programs watching the little ones, we could remember our years with young kids: hard work but immensely fulfilling. They are so cute, so innocent, so into the moment; and you have lots of time: it will be years until they grow up.

But bit-by-bit they grow, and as parents we're continually shedding the mini-worlds they leave behind: baby stuff; preschool things; Scouts; Little League. Recently I was home on a weekday and was surprised to see "Sesame Street" early in the morning on TV: it's still around! The preschool world still exists, something I forget since we have long since moved on. Like Star Trek we all operate in parallel universes: coexisting but not really aware of life over there.

At least with two kids you get a second chance with the youngest child. When the door closes for the older child, it opens for the younger one: you can be consoled that you are not totally through, there's a little more left. So with our youngest we can savor everything one last time before moving on, this time for good. This adds a certain poignancy to his activities for us: each time he's done, we're done as well.

Perhaps one day future grandchildren will again open this realm to us. But until then, after 18 years, it's farewell to the world of children. Ours have moved on...and we must follow.

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