Graduation Cheers and Jeers

Small children get attention by throwing fits. Everything must stop and the world must focus on the child. While I have never seen a toddler-style tantrum at a high school graduation, I have seen its teenage equivalents. A small number of students and their families feel the need for more attention. Walking across the stage and receiving a diploma to the applause of teachers, classmates and community is not enough. This group needs whoops, dances, antics and catcalls. Why? For a very similar reason that a toddler throws a tantrum.

As students cross the graduation stage, the tide of applause ebbs and flows. For some students the clapping gets a little bit louder than others. For a few students, there is a noticeable increase in the volume of clapping. It is my experience that these students are the ones who have made a real difference in the life of the school. They are the students who have genuinely contributed and whose involvement has been significant and whose relationships, both with adults and kids, have been sincere and positive. This group rarely has any “tantrums.”

On the other hand, students who receive loud and boisterous acknowledgement, who do little dances or make a spectacle of themselves, almost always fall into another category. These children are usually far less involved in the school. They often give the appearance of substance use. The applause for these students is not noticeably greater or less than the average student.

However, these kids want extra attention. That is what the catcalls and dances are all about. These kids often had opportunities for positive attention during their high school years. Some have had the spotlight in many ways. The need to stand out this way at graduation cannot be attributed to being attention starved. Many of these students have received more than their share of attention from both adults and their fellow students.

I have sat through more than twenty high school graduations and, over and over, the vast majority of kids walk across the stage to polite applause. They have huge grins on their faces and their families’ joy is clearly evident. However, for the tantrum minority, the graduation may be far more bittersweet. While the sound and the fury may seem to signify their elation at this achievement (and often for some of these students, graduation was not a forgone conclusion), it may really be a sign of serious concern.

When we see a parent in a store with a two or three-year old who is throwing a tantrum, we may sympathize or condemn. When we see a parent with a nine or ten year old throwing a tantrum, we have to wonder. While an eighteen year old may be too old for the traditional tantrum, for many of these families, high school has been a series of outbursts and attention seeking negative behaviors.

I don’t justify the misbehavior of either the kids or their friends and family by saying that they are relieved to see the child receive a diploma. However, I believe that they are fantastically nervous about the next steps. If some of them aren’t, maybe they should be. Many, if not most, of these students are moving on to some form of college. Their parents will not be monitoring their choices (although many have had difficulty with this prior to high school graduation). For many of these students, college turns out to be one long tantrum. Many don’t even make it through freshman year. The screams and whistles, cheers and whoops are really cries.

I have only seen a handful of eighth grade graduations. I did not see much of this kind of behavior there. I wonder if observing who gets the “whoops” at the end of middle school might help us identify these kids earlier? Could we intervene earlier and make everyone’s high school graduation a little bit more polite and enjoyable?

Years ago, these tantrums at graduation made me angry. I saw them as selfish and disrespectful. And they are. And while I still shake my head and disapprove, I know that the small blemish that their behavior places on our wonderful graduation is nothing compared to the pain that is coming. I hope they will grow up. I hope that their families will provide them with the support and attention for which they are so obviously starved. It concerns me that the patterns are in place. Yet, my formal role is over. Graduation is the end of the line for me; most of these students will move on and never look back. They will now depend on another faculty. Maybe I should cheer too.

Letting Go and Letting Grow

“The hardest part of love is letting go,” say the lyrics from one of my favorite songs by Stephen Schwartz. As a parent, letting go may be the most difficult part of the job. Soon, I will put my two children on buses to go to four weeks of overnight camp,. Part of me will delight in the opportunities that their absence makes possible. And they are always eager to get to camp and be with their friends.

But when I get home. I frequently find myself wandering through their quiet rooms. I will miss them before they have been gone as long as a regular school day. I will worry that something might happen to them.

Many parents tend to provide too much protection. When my kids leave my sight, I worry. Usually, I tell myself that such worries are irrational. I tell myself that my kids must learn to function away from their parents. I remind myself that this is how autonomy is learned. Nevertheless, part of me wants to hover over them and protect them from the world.

Although my reasons are valid, the real fact is that I couldn't protect them, even if I were always inches away. To go one step further, even if I were to succeed, I would cause them harm. That’s right, my need to protect them actually creates the problem I am trying to avoid.

As I teacher, I have seen too many examples of this. Over involved parents create children who will not or cannot function on their own. These kids are often immature and unable to independently problem solve. These parents are frequently intrusive and cross boundaries without a thought.

I had a senior in high school not long ago, who needed to rush off to the bathroom to send his mother a text message whenever he got a disappointing grade. Mom would then email me and I would receive the email before the period was over. Another needed his mother to assist him with all papers. He could not write an in-class essay on his own. A third has her mother at her beck and call. Mom would run errands, bring in forgotten assignments, and run interference with school personnel.

While these parents’ intentions are good, their methods actually handicap their children. They mistakenly believe that their child should not have to deal with certain challenges, or issues. They may rationalize that the kids are too young, not yet skilled in problem solving, or too busy with school and activities. The truth is that they don’t want to let go. The truth is they don’t want the child to fail or be hurt.

But harm can mean many things. Is challenge harmful? Is a little frustration or discomfort bad? Education only occurs when we go beyond our comfort zone and really step out into the scary world of “ I don’t know how.” If we never go there, we never really learn.

While I am missing my children (and they may be missing me), they are having a marvelous experience that none of us would exchange for the relief from the loneliness. Discomfort and, yes some pain, are necessary. We need to confront challenges and step out into the big, bad, world in order to discover our power and ourselves. If we do not allow our children to do so, they remain forever children.

I can hear the parent responding, “But she’s only four!” Yes, even at four, even at two! Another lyric from the same song says, “Your children start to leave you on the day that they are born.” It is true. Each new milestone and landmark is a step toward independence. Any hovering, smothering, or protecting we do is liable to hinder that progress.

Of course, we must teach them common sense. We should insist they wear their helmets and seat belts (and do so ourselves as well). That is not what I am talking about here. I am talking about the natural parental impulse to be the bodyguard and pain killer. The well meaning desire to spare our children the critical but difficult pains that will help them do what we most fear: operate independently from us.