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TITLE: The Way of a Mother with Her Graduating Senior
By Linda Crow
05/10/06
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For my column
Remember that poetic passage in Proverbs about seemingly commonplace events that are actually marvels beyond comprehension: “the way of an eagle in the sky, a snake on a rock, a ship on the sea, and the way of man with a maiden?”

Well, I’ve got my own list of bafflers, and I’m adding one more: the way of a mother planning her child’s graduation open house. There must be some metaphysical explanation for the energy that causes a typical, level-headed, flexible mom to morph into an unrecognizable human who’s a combination of meticulous civil engineer, fussy interior decorator and sentimental geyser that periodically spews tears and exclamations like, “I can’t believe my baby is all grown up!” Definitely, a mom of a high school senior in the month of May is a force to be reckoned with—or better yet, to be avoided completely.

My friends and I have special code words for this momentous time in a mom’s life, like, “sacred notebook” for the organizer the mom keeps with her at all times in which she can check off tasks and add new inspirations that will require even more energy and money. She even keeps it on her nightstand, in case of emergency, like having a nightmare in which there was no ice at her open house, a horrendous party faux pas. That way, she can scribble down this God-inspired warning which will save her the embarrassment. Last year one of my friend’s sacred notebooks went missing for about a week. She had to be sedated until it was found.

Another term is “shrine,” as in, “I was working on the shrine the other day, and I realized I don’t have a picture of Ashley with Brittany and Tiffany together; I only have one of her with each girl separately.” The shrine is the presentation, the biography, of the graduate. Shrines can consist of tables with photo albums and scholastic awards, but most have evolved into displays of labor-intensive scrapbooks, dance costumes, DVD loops, life-sized posters, family and friend testimonials, celebrity endorsements and papal blessings.

Only in America. And I’ve been told, “Only in Indiana.” Anyway, somehow we’ve moved from “Children should be seen and not heard,” to “We’ve got to have a clip of Jake’s great tackle on the DVD, and a recording of his band playing outside the house as guests arrive. And by the way, could we get the drive widened and re-plant our annuals to match the school’s colors?”

I could easily steer this column from a playful poke at momdom to a biting, cynical direction. I could chastise moms for orchestrating these over-the-top productions. I could zero in on the soft spot, asking, “Is there a ‘Best Mom’ competition based on who builds the biggest shrine? Is it a measure of love? Are these indulgent parties indicative of our society’s worship of our children, worship of accomplishment/success, and even worship of celebrity?”

I could, but I won’t. Although all of those unattractive motives may be part of the phenomenon, I think there is an underlying, unstated reason behind the frenzy that is less distasteful.

I believe that at the heart of it is a mother’s processing of letting go, saying goodbye, to her child. Many moms begin grieving at the beginning of the senior year, and the last month is highly emotional. In spite of a different kind of parenting that lies ahead, moms start to feel that there’s nothing productive left to do, and so they create something to do for that child. It’s like staging one last hurrah to say, “I love you. I’m proud of you—and does this make up for not doing the fundraiser in elementary school, the track meet I missed in junior high and the time I called you ‘honey’ in front of your coach?”

It’s all about that deep, unconditional, heart-tourniquet kind of love that looks a little desperate during this transition. What a paradox—a mom’s goal is to guide her dependent child to independence, and yet there is an inescapable desire to hold on to him. It’s baffling—beyond comprehension—the bittersweet way of a mother with her child who’s on the threshold of independence.
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