Showing Up

A confession about attendance, from the father of a graduating son.

I have a confession.

For most of my life as a parent of two boys, now men or nearly so, I’ve been looking through the wrong lens when it comes to my attendance and participation in certain parts of their lives. My tendency has been to evaluate the value of where and how I spend my time, and perhaps in too selfish a way. Is this a good use of my time? Will I enjoy it? Will the person I’m doing this for even remember or value my being there?

These are questions I’m sure many of you at least occasionally reflect on, given the seemingly endless number of activities where we parents are expected to participate in our children’s lives.

I’m thinking about this more now because my youngest, Eli, is graduating from high school. He just turned 18, and for those of you with grown kids, I don’t have to tell you how fast this happens. This week has been filled with activities, rituals, and celebrations meant to mark an important transition. I understand that. But I have to admit I don’t tend to enjoy these gatherings.

Like the other night… a sports awards evening. I sat through two and a half hours of mind-numbing but well-intentioned recognition for our high school’s 30 different boys’ and girls’ sports programs. (The saving grace of the evening was the final speaker, an honor for a longtime coach who has devoted his life to shaping kids in positive ways.)

I don’t know why the epiphany didn’t hit me earlier. I’ve been steadfast in my belief that these kinds of events are hollow and that a child’s real interest in whether a parent attends is minimal. At least this was often the case for me growing up. Most of the time, I didn’t care whether one or both of my parents came, especially to what I perceived as an inconsequential concert or some kind of parent gathering.

I’ll admit, though, that there were things I badly wanted them there for. My soccer games, in particular. Those were the times when I’d hope to look to the sideline and see one or both of them there.

Now, deep into my own adulthood, I think about how often that cynicism shaped my choices. Whether it was a five-hour round-trip drive to Los Angeles to catch part of one of my sons’ games or a social function tied to the school, I was very judicious about how much I was willing to suffer. I spent more time critiquing the event itself or the hollow social interactions that come with it. I’d extol the virtues of how I’d spend my time otherwise. And I’d critique those who wasted theirs on these less-than-significant activities.

But the other day, just the other fucking day (so late in the proverbial game) I had an epiphany. I can’t tell you exactly why it hit me. Maybe it was the timing of Eli’s graduation. Maybe it was the overwhelming accumulation of counterexamples to my cynicism. But there it was… the thought that maybe (no, likely) I’ve had this all wrong.

The reason a parent, or frankly any of us, takes the time to be there for something that may seem insignificant is that there is value in the showing up. And it is precisely in the showing up. The moment when your child might look into the audience and see your face. It’s the significance of the sacrifice…. The idea that it is precisely in the enduring of the mundane, poorly organized, and shallow experiences - in service of showing up for the ones we love - that value is created and received. Sacrifice and the willingness to choose to be there, even in a small way, to show one’s caring and one’s love.

I don’t feel particularly good about my approach. I’m so fortunate to have people around me to show me the way, and for my boys to have someone besides me to make up for my mistakes. And while I’m sure I’m being too hard on myself (it’s not as if I never showed up), I know I could have shown up more.

Last night, sitting at a folding table at the senior celebration dinner, eating not-the-worst enchiladas I’ve ever had, listening to advice I’ve heard a hundred times, I watched a video that a parent had put together. A parent in the crowd had invested hundreds of hours curating, organizing, and ultimately relaying back to us the most important moments of our now-graduating kids’ lives.

And from a distance, I saw my son, about a bleacher’s distance away. I watched him laughing joyfully with his friends while the video played on the screens. He wasn’t looking back at me… but this time, I was there if he did.

[Me w Eli’s photo poster at the event]