Ode to the Cap and Gown: A Letter to My Son on Graduation Day

15 Apr 2024
us
Ann

Graduation Day from the Marine Corps for my son!

Remember that time you used to eat your peas one at a time with a tiny spoon, convinced it was the most efficient method? Now look at you, about to accept a diploma with (presumably) a much larger utensil. Time, the ultimate hype beast, waits for no one. It feels like just yesterday we were trying to decipher your kindergarten finger paintings, marveling at the abstract representation of a dog that looked suspiciously like a rogue eyebrow. Now, here we are, on the precipice of your next grand adventure.

Graduation day. It's a loaded term, isn't it? It's a confetti cannon of emotions, a bittersweet symphony played on heartstrings. Joy, of course, bursts from every seam. Pride, too, a quiet, persistent hum beneath it all. But then there's that tiny whisper of melancholy, that nostalgic ache for yesterday. It's the realization that childhood, with all its messy, chaotic beauty, is officially hanging up its hat. (Hopefully not the graduation cap, though. You need that for the ceremony.)

And as I watch you step into this next chapter, a million thoughts swirl in my mind. Remember when you thought "adulting" meant staying up past 8 pm and eating ice cream for dinner? We laughed, but honey, the secret is the grown-up world isn't that different. You'll soon discover that responsibility is just another word for freedom in disguise, and paying bills is a thrilling game of chance (will it clear or won't it?!). But on a serious note, there are a few things I want you to carry with you as you navigate this exciting, terrifying, exhilarating journey called life.

First and foremost, never underestimate the power of kindness. It's the universal language that transcends borders, languages, and even the most stubborn of Wi-Fi connections. Hold the door open for strangers, offer help when you can, and always remember that a little empathy goes a long way.

Second, embrace failure like a long-lost friend. Because here's the thing, my dear graduate, you're going to stumble. You're going to face rejection, disappointment, and the occasional existential crisis fueled by too much coffee and late-night philosophical debates. But these moments? They're not setbacks; they're plot twists. They're the universe's way of saying, "Okay, that path was cute, but how about we try something a little more... *you*?"

Third, never, ever stop learning. The world is a vast and endlessly fascinating classroom. Be curious, ask questions, and never be afraid to dive headfirst into something new. Whether it's mastering a new language, perfecting your sourdough bread recipe (please share!), or simply learning how to change a tire (a life skill that should be taught alongside algebra, in my humble opinion), embrace every opportunity to expand your horizons.

And finally, always remember that you are loved beyond measure. No matter where life takes you, know that you have a family who will cheer you on every step of the way, a soft landing for when you fall, and a never-ending supply of terrible jokes (sorry, not sorry).

So go out there, my brilliant, kind, and slightly awkward graduate, and set the world on fire. Or, you know, just a small, controlled bonfire. Metaphorically speaking, of course. (Unless you're actually starting a bonfire, in which case, please be careful and follow all fire safety regulations.)

Congratulations, my love. The world is waiting.