Patrick graduated from high school last week. I had been jazzed for the ceremony for a while. He stayed cloistered in his bedroom the morning of, getting his clothes and face just right. Senn High School put on a fun, outdoor, and socially distant event for everyone involved. Cars also moved slowly around the school grounds for those families who preferred to keep up their caution. I buzzed around the grounds just thrilled to chat with teachers, staff, and some other parents; in contrast, Patrick's demeanor was on par with any other Friday. Teenage cool is as alien to me as lunchables. Maybe he perked up after I returned home, free to socialize with his friends while far from the reach of his dad's camera.
That morning, while getting ready to get Patrick to his school he asked for my help with tying a necktie. I tied the one he wanted to wear around my own neck, intending to loosen it and then slip it around his own -- when it happened: I had a flashback. I remembered getting ready for an event and running full force into the embarrassing reality that nobody had ever taught me this seemingly obvious skill. There I was at 17, a poor kid in a Michigan trailer park trying to will myself into becoming an adult without the ability to do what seemed as obvious as tying one's own shoelaces. It was humiliating for life to remind me again of what I didn't have. A neighbor, well in his sixties, walked me through the steps of making a basic knot. I felt as hopeless in getting it right as appreciative for his having helped me. He eventually took the tie, tied it around his own neck and then passed it back for me to slip on over my head. Back in Chicago that morning, Patrick slipped on the necktie that coincidentally matched the bowtie I had chosen. I hope that he didn't feel embarrassed at having to ask.
Patrick's participation at the graduation event was not guaranteed a mere six months ago. Hell, it wasn't even probable. Patrick had taken the study-at-home order as a "do nothing while at home" gift. His grades plummeted so quickly that it panicked those around him. Some of you will remember my struggle to comprehend what seemed at the time like his impending failure to graduate. Patrick hadn't cared much about school to begin with; in March, he slipped right into apathy. How could he quit so close to the finish line and while under such better circumstances? I fell into the terrible trap of believing that Patrick's failure was because of my own... that he was experiencing the results of my failure as a parent. Too many days went by in which I wondered why the family that we had become wouldn't be enough to save him. Those feelings were fucking awful to experience. We were fortunate though to be in the company of good people who in their own ways encouraged Patrick to see opportunity in the least likely circumstances while also helping me change up my parenting strategies when the effectiveness of one didn't work.
Patrick pulled both his attitude and his work ethic around enough to get across the stage -- which this year everyone will have to cross in their imaginations (to hell with the coronavirus). It turned out that we were never alone, nor were we ever failures. But it did turn out that life's lessons have a way of re-appearing. To everyone who lent us their ears and empathy in the last six months: please take this news of Patrick's success as my way of thanking you.
I uploaded some pictures from the day. Patrick would like me to note here that I was corny throughout the experience.
https://photos.app.goo.gl/aFkHXxn74yWmvbNC9
