I don’t remember graduating from the 8th grade. I attended what used to be called junior high school. It was a 2 year program steeped in hormone control. The curriculum included the usual: math, English, science, home economics, gym, foreign language, etc. It also had its fair share of angst, peer pressure and love triangles. All of this was finished off with mood swings and tears – joy and sadness were indiscernable.
Now, all these years later, the center of my universe is graduating from the 8th grade. His 11 years at the same school ended with 3 years in middle school. He has had a fabulous time figuring his young self out in an atmosphere of care and concern. He’s been challenged educationally and emotionally. He has witnessed the best in his friends and the worst in himself. The reverse is true as well.
And I’m the one that can’t stop crying. Every day this week has had at least one event in it that is a “last” for either my son, me or our family. He’s not just leaving his friends, I’m leaving my friends. These are men and women – all parents! – that were standing there with me 11 years ago when we sent our 3-year-olds into what seemed like a huge adventure.
I’m crying for what seems like no apparrent reason. I’m clinging to girlfriends in parking lots. I’m re-visiting the past and watching time fly. I’m holding on to moments, hoping they never end.
Sounds like junior high all over again. This time, however, I have a steady boyfriend to hold hands with who says he’ll love me forever.
SHARE THIS: 
