Some of the things I’ve done wrong raising this boy:

Occasionally I played video games with him instead of doing the dishes.

Once in a while, we had ice cream sundaes for dinner.

We racked up large library fines together.

We read entirely too many comic books.

I told him that parents get a Halloween candy “tithe”.

I didn’t let him beat me at tic-tac-toe. Or hangman.


I was going to write something sentimental here, but I find I’m too close to some emotional edge. I keep veering away from heartbroken tears. It’s not the fact that he’s grown up and is about to leave. All parents everywhere know that day comes. It means we've done our job. It’s all the missed opportunities, the real mistakes, the blunders and wrong turns. On the eve of graduation, those hammer at my soul relentlessly. I should have done this. I should have done that.

So I iron his gown for tomorrow (“cool iron only, Mom!”) and know that I’ve honestly done the best I could possibly do – and wish with all my heart that I could do it over again.