Well, on this first day of Eighth grade, that's about all I've got.
As parents, we must walk that line.
We must let the hand go at the preschool, let go the hug that is the first day of First. Let go the young man handshakes, and my hand shouldered in love. Let go the long look as that enormous bus drives somberly away. Let go of knowing exactly where they are.
Let go of, simply, of them.
But we must also hold tight. Hold tight to their love for us and ours for them. Hold them tight in a hug, our backs to the storms of this world, protecting them, for now. Hold tight to our intuition, our sureness, that their road has been safe and their journey happy. Hold tight our hearts as they burst daily at the slights and hurts only teenagers think they know but we parents remember.
Hold tight, simply, your sons and daughters.
Can I show you a picture I took just this morning?
That's them, ahead of us, looking down the road at what is about to be - prepared, nervous, excited... hopeful.
This image could be, perhaps, our job description, we parents. Actually, any image of children facing away from the lens, looking out towards what is to come, not looking back at us, morphs into metaphor for me, if that makes sense. This is one that's been framed and I see it every day:
We may not see their faces, but, they're facing the right way.
Love them, hold them tight. Make sure they're prepared, let them go, and wish them godspeed.
Peace to you.