Punkin and Circumstance

As much as I hate to admit it, I go through life looking at many things with what might be termed an unhealthy amount of cynicism. That I've grown up to be a sarcastic jerk is really what it comes down to. I'm reminded of an episode of The Simpsons where Homer is part of a traveling freak show connected to "Lalapalooza." He's the dude that gets shot in the gut with a cannon ball. As he's walking onto the stage, one of the "Gen Xers" out in the crowd says, "Here's that cannonball guy. Yeah, he's cool." The girl standing next to him says, "Are you being serious or sarcastic?" He responds by hanging his head and saying with a slight bit of panic in his voice, "I just don't know anymore." I'm like that guy sometimes. I've become so used to being cynical and sarcastic that there are times where I have to tell someone explicitly that I'm being serious in a statement and not sarcastic. Last Friday, I was asked to place my cynicism aside for the evening.

My daughter, Punkin, has been attending preschool twice a week for the past year. She's loved it. Her class is small (around eight students), and she's made some friends that she would talk about constantly at home. I was happy that she was getting to know some other kids her age. It was good for her. However, we're now getting really close to summer, and school was almost done. I come to find out that they're going to have a graduation ceremony for the preschool. Immediately, my mind went to the slight silliness of the situation: "Congratulations, kids! You have 13 years of public school ahead of you plus any extra that you do post-high school! Hope you enjoyed the finger painting while it lasted." However, for the sake of my daughter, I put that aside. I decided I would enjoy myself and be proud that Punkin (and Anne) got through the year successfully. After all, there is a bit of "grading" in the sense that they recommended that she move on to kindergarten as opposed to pre-kindergarten. So there we are in our seats, waiting for the ceremony to start, juggling two boys and three different cameras (video, film, and digital) between the two of us. We've been out-numbered for a while now. They marched in to "Pomp and Circumstance." They sang some of their songs with actions that were cute, but never quite synchronized among themselves. They had a video of the year together in pictures and set to some appropriately - I hate to use the word, but I have to - sappy songs. After all, it's just not a graduation ceremony at a Christian school if you don't get to hear Michael W. Smith belting out, "And friends are friends forever..."

Then the ceremony was over. The teacher was fighting back tears as she was saying "Thank you" to the parents and all of the kids. Punkin was unusually quiet when saying goodbye to her teacher and on the drive home. After we got home, we were cleaning up all the toys in the living room like we do every night before bedtime. I went over to help Punkin put the books on the bookshelf. I saw a little bit of moisture in her eyes and asked her if everything was OK. She turned to me and said, "I'm sad that I'm not going to be able to see my friends again." Then she started to cry. I hugged her for awhile. She was like that for the rest of the evening, crying two or three more times before going to sleep. It was very sweet and sad all at the same time.

I'm glad that I had to put aside my cynicism for the day. I'm glad I was able to see my daughter "graduate" even if she has a long way to go yet. I'm also glad that I got to see a bunch of five-year-olds doing what looked remarkably like "Raise the Roof" during one of their songs. Mostly I'm just a bit melancholy to see my little girl grow up, even if it's just a little bit.