No Holding Back the Tears

Wednesday night was “graduation” night at my son’s Montessori school, where parents, grandparents, friends, and family pack into the gym and celebrate educational milestones such as moving from kindergarten to lower elementary, lower elementary to upper, becoming big-kids-on-campus by heading to middle school, and finally, the 8th graders departing as they head out for their high school experience.

It’s nice that they celebrate important transitions such as these, and it really builds a sense of community and continuity. The mere fact that an eight year old wants to go sit in the gym for an hour for this demonstrates how much the kids benefit from the event.

Amid the joy and celebration, there was a tinge of sadness at the end, as we said goodbye to a teacher who has been at the school since my son started there. Jackie is moving to Pittsburgh with her husband, which we’ve known for weeks, but that night she was honored at the end of the program with a plaque and some art her upper elementary kids made for her. One parent sniffled her way through an homage, and there was nearly as much tear-wiping in the audience as there was among those on center stage.

It was touching to watch my son’s reaction to the emotional display – his face grew darker and more focused in the way pre-teens call their very own, his cheeks reddened a bit, and he got very subdued. He had enjoyed her as a teacher for one year but had seen her nearly every day as part of the before-care program. When the event was finished and we were filing out, he made a point of waiting patiently while Jackie grabbed a minute of family time, then simply walked up to her and gave her a hug.

As we walked out to the car, he had his hands jammed into the pockets of his hoodie, walking in front of mom and dad a few paces to demonstrate his burgeoning independence. We tried to raise the topic of sadness being normal when it’s time to say goodbye to someone who is important to us, but he was in high-pitched one-word sentence mode as he quickly and furtively flicked away the occasional tear.

We let him know that we were sad too, and that it was okay to feel what he was feeling. We noted how lucky we were to have known Jackie, and tossed out the concept that a whole new group of kids in Pittsburgh would soon reap the benefits of having her as their teacher, but it seemed sort of unnecessary.

It’s hard to watch your eight year old feel the emotional sting of the arrows that come with encountering impermanence, but it’s also rewarding to know that unlike his dad, my son is growing up in an environment where it’s acceptable to feel and to talk about it without shame or fear of derision.

Part of my healing is to break the cycle of emotional avoidance and give my kids a more nurturing place to learn life’s lessons. The payoff may be years down the road for him, but I’m proud that he’s learned to feel and weep. Better now than 40 years later, like me.