On Robbie’s Graduation from Kindergarten
I was surprised to find myself crying when I dropped Robbie off at school for his last day of kindergarten. The primary students - preK3, preK4, and K - all have to be walked up to the door; once kids start first grade, they can go up the stairs by themselves. Of course there will be days in the years to come when I’ll go all the way with Robbie, but it suddenly hit me that this was the last time we’d go through the particular ritual his teacher, who has led Robbie’s class since he started school in fall 2021, uses every morning to start the day:
Miss Alé: Buenos dias, Robbie.
Robbie: Buenos dias!
Miss Alé: Esta listo?
Robbie: Si.
Miss Alé: Dile adiós a tu mamá.
Robbie (turns, gives me a hug): Bye, Mommy! Love you!
I don’t grieve the fact that Robbie’s getting older. The delight of watching him learn and grow far outweighs the pangs of knowing that he needs me less and less every year. (To be honest, it’s actually a relief in many ways. Plus, if he’s anything like me, he’ll still need his mother well into his 30s! Love you, Mom.) The words I land on for how I’m feeling aren’t so sharp: heartache rather than heartbreak; melancholy, maybe, or mournfulness.
It’s a sort of nostalgia, really, despite the fact that kindergarten is barely behind us. Unsurprisingly, psychologists have studied this and have coined the phrases “anticipatory nostalgia” and “anticipated nostalgia". I love how Dr. Krystine Batcho, one of the foremost scholars in this field, discusses it in an APA interview:
When things start to change, either very substantially, such as major events in a person's life, getting married or getting divorced, getting a new career, going back to school or graduating from school, it's comforting to have a nostalgic feeling for the past that reminds us that although we don't know what the future is going to bring, what we do know is that we know who we have been and who we really are... In a way, nostalgia is like a measurement. It's a way we keep track of things, we monitor progress through life, not just for ourselves, but even for other people to whom we are very attached.
It’s wild, as a parent, to realize you’re holding this not just for yourself but for your child, too. It’s an honor, really; maybe one of the most poignant responsibilities we shoulder. A 2013 research review showed that nostalgic narratives contained more expressions of optimism than ordinary narratives, and confirmed that “nostalgia… fosters social connectedness, which subsequently increases self-esteem, which then boosts optimism.” In other words, “the nostalgic experience is inherently optimistic and paints a subjectively rosier future.”
And what could be more important for a parent to feel at times of change for their children, even if it’s accompanied by tears?
