Even though the site is still under construction, I'm going to start recording some of my thoughts here so I can get a better idea of how the end result will look.

Earlier this week, the first of my spawn walked across a stage and got a diploma. Granted, it's only an eighth grade diploma. As I watched her clown with her friends before the ceremony, I realized that she's only mine for a few more years. I also realized that she won't really be mine for those years and she hasn't been mine for a while now. Years ago, when she was 6 or 7, a father I worked with asked me how a parent can let go of their children. I told him that I thought it was different for men than for women. We start letting go when our children are born. They emerge from our wombs into a noisy, cold place where strangers clean them and check them. From there, we become, mostly, the primary caregivers. We let them scoot, then crawl, walk, and run. The process of raising a child is a process of letting them go. We try to teach them our values, but know that they will formulate their own. We try to guide them from making our mistakes. We monitor, for as long as we can, what they watch, read, hear. We try to make them see the world as a wondrous place full of joy and mystery. We try to teach them that it's also a dangerous place and to be wary. We meet parents, arrange play dates and sleep overs. We try to help them sort out the conflicting messages they receive from peers, television, books and even us. Throughout the entire process, we are letting go. We let them earn freedoms, like unlocking levels in video games. "If you prove to me you can follow the rules and be responsible, I'll let you go to the playground across the street by yourself, just take the walkie talkie and check in every 1/2 hour." It's a painful, joyous, wonderful process. It makes worry your constant companion and multiplies the gray hairs on your head exponentially. Above all, it's a bumpy process. As they strive for more an more freedom, they push their limits and yours too. This time of year, 4 years from now, I'll let go for good. Don't get me wrong, I'll still offer advice and worry, but it won't be my place anymore to set rules, curfews, or limits. Letting go is difficult. There's no set of guidelines for how it should be done. Each child is different and must be handled differently. The pain, pride and worry don't change. Those are the same for each child. Anyway, Bug is now in high school and the other two are officially middle schoolers today. Much like Elvis, grade school has left the building.

By the way, I managed not to cry until after the nomelings went to bed tonight. I only have 2 more of these graduations and 4 high school ones to get through without tears. :) My beautiful daughter shed a furtive tear. I believe she may have realized that when she left that building, she was leaving behind a bit of her carefree childhood and running full tilt toward the heavy mantle of grown-up responsibilities. Oh, and the boy also had tears in his eyes. Of course, that may have been because he bet Bug $15 that she wouldn't graduate and now he's got to pony up 3 weeks allowance to her. Silly boy!