Premature Pomp

So my son is a graduate. He didn’t exactly finish at the top of his class, but he graduated. Actually, maybe he did finish near the top. Maybe he graduated magna cum laude. Hell, maybe he was even valedictorian. His school kept pretty crappy records, so it’s hard to know for sure. Honestly, I don’t think they kept records at all. We never saw a report card or a transcript or class syllabi’s. I’m pretty sure his only requirements for graduating were the fact that he’s five and will no longer be a paying customer this fall. You know, cause it was preschool.

The concept of graduating from preschool is… quaint. Cute, even. You probably thought the word I was going to use was ‘stupid.’ Some people might use that word, but not me. The concept is cute and the actual “ceremony” was cute. Assuming it’s ok for a man to refer to his son’s preschool graduation as cute.

But here’s the problem… it’s also kind of stupid. I can’t help it. He looked cute (there’s that word again) in his $25 cap and gown, but he didn’t really achieve anything. Nice weather days consisted of round-the-clock recess, broken up only by lunch and nap time. And he failed miserably at nap time (Aced lunch, though). If I may take just a moment to brag - the director of the preschool did say quite regularly, “Your child is so smart,” which felt great, even on those occasions when she was looking at other parents while saying it (I felt bad that she rubbed it in their faces like that, though). But my son was never required to prove it through quizzes or tests or book reports or anything. Sure, he excelled at identifying colors, writing numbers and letters, and performing basic math, but even if he did those things poorly, they still would have given him a diploma.

As proof: at the ceremony the kids all sang a song in unison. Unfortunately it wasn’t decipherable until the second verse because the singers were the exact opposite of ‘in unison.’ That hardly seems diploma worthy.

I promise, though, I’m not a jerk. It was very thoughtful of the school to take the time and effort to make them feel special. And, as I said, the ceremony was cute, the caps and gowns were cute, and the free food was cute. I laughed when I was supposed to laugh, and I said my allergies were bothering me when… you know… I was supposed to say my allergies were bothering me (see, I have a heart).

But have we gone a little off the ranch with things like preschool graduations? For one thing, none of the kids have to earn passing grades in order to graduate. You don’t have to “pass” the first 4-6 years of your life in order to get into kindergarten. You have to go (yes, even in Kentucky). Which brings me to my second point: the kids aren’t allowed to stay at the preschool. We’re legally obligated to enroll my son in an actual school, or at least purchase home-school curriculum, in a few months. It’s like throwing a retirement party for someone who’s being forced to take early retirement.

So what are we celebrating and/or congratulating, exactly? Was the ceremony a way for the teachers to thank the parents for our money over the last five years by asking us to pay another $25 and take time off work?

Ok, that sounds angry. I’m certainly not angry; amused more than anything. And even a little proud. So I’ll just say what you’re supposed to say after graduations. Congratulations Son! You earned it, I guess.

Everything Is a Thing

When you’re a kid, that is. I’m talking about the title, of course. When you’re a kid, everything is a thing. Everything you see is a thing, everything you do is a thing, everything someone says to you is a thing, and everything someone says to somebody else is a thing. If you don’t have kids, those statements probably need clarifying. If you do have kids, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Getting ready for bed, for instance, is more than just putting on your pajamas, brushing your teeth and climbing under the covers. Much more. It’s first asking, “Who has to go to bed?” after one of your parents says, “Time for bed.” Then it’s standing in front of the mirror and seeing how many goofy faces you can make while singing whatever is floating around in your head. It doesn’t even have to be a real song. It can just be a series of random words said in a sing-songy tune. Like, “I like to toot. Toot, toot, toot. You like to toot. Toot, toot, toot.”

Then it’s turning to whomever has walked into the bathroom to ask you to stop singing and start brushing your teeth, and saying, “Look at my belly!”

This continues in a number of similar scenarios for roughly 45 minutes before the child is finally in bed. But you’ve heard all this before. Kids have short attention spans, they don’t like to go to bed, they act silly, blah, blah, blah. But what you may not have heard is what I led off this article with. I wasn’t exaggerating. Everything - not just going to bed - is a thing.

Washing your hands, for instance. An activity that, for an adult, takes 15 seconds at most and requires little thought. For a kid, however, it can take 15 minutes. And helping them speed up the process only leads to elevated blood pressure. Don’t turn the water on for them because they can turn on the water. And they will turn it off and then back on to prove it. Don’t hand them the soap either because they can get the soap. And they will put it down and then pick it back up to prove that as well. But there is something they would like help with – knowing what soap consists of, where it comes from, why it smells so good, etc… So be sure to have the answers to those questions.

Then there are rocks. Holy shit, rocks are awesome. And sticks! They’re even more badass than rocks. Which is great. I love my kids’ passion for things that don’t impress most people past the age of 10. But did you know every rock and every stick has to be picked up? Every single one. No matter how much of a hurry you’re in. And when their arms are full of rocks and sticks, you have to hold the overflow. Even if you need to get to work or to a hospital or to a space shuttle that is rocketing off the planet because aliens are about to blow it up.

"Why are there so many rocks?" they'll probably ask. And they'll ask it when you're trying to hurriedly get them in the car so the line of vehicles behind you can finally pull around the jerkoff that is clogging up the parking lot by waiting to take your spot.

“Why do they want our parking space? Why do they want to be close to the building? Why don’t they want to walk far? What’s a lazy asshole?”

See? Getting into the car is a thing. And rocks are a thing. And parking spaces are a thing.

If you don’t have kids, there’s a chance you’re thinking that mine might have A.D.D. If you do have kids, you know that everything I’ve described is perfectly normal behavior of an average child with average attention-paying abilities. I knew kids that had A.D.D. and I know parents of children who have it. My kids aren’t within an Everest climb of even approaching it. Something to consider if you’re considering having kids.

Not that that should stop you. Kids are great. And a ton of fun. Just know that everything is a thing.