Rector Writes | The Conflict of the Goodbye

Several years ago, I shared an office space with a fellow administrator in a school where both of our children were enrolled. Between us, we had five children attending the school - his three were older than my two. As office mates and educators who shared a similar philosophy, we became close colleagues and friends, with our families enjoying time together on weekends and during holidays. I clearly remember being struck by the positive and patient parenting that he and his wife modeled. Their children were polite, respectful, funny, charismatic, athletic, hardworking, popular, and generous. 

As siblings, they shared, played, romped, and did chores together. They shared a love of the city's sports teams and were particularly united in their passionate support of their beloved teams. They rarely fought, were kind and inclusive to my own young sons whenever we were together, and enjoyed spending time with their parents, relishing family dinners and never having to be asked to do the dishes. My husband and I frequently commented on the fact that these parents had cracked the code - they were “raising their children right.” They were successfully preparing them for the world, and we often talked about how we hoped to emulate their techniques.

Time flew by, and before long, their oldest child was preparing to leave for college. As his father's office mate, I had a ringside seat throughout the college application process. I’d heard of the disappointments and triumphs, the anxiety of being waitlisted, the thrill of being recruited to play soccer, and the nail-biting finish of choosing between wonderful offers from two great schools. As the date of his departure got closer, I was expecting his parents to be understandably apprehensive at the prospect of their eldest leaving the nest, but I was also certain that they would be confident that they had spent eighteen years preparing him well, and that he had the skills to navigate this big step with every necessary tool to be wildly successful. I could not have been more wrong.

In the two weeks before his departure for college, my office mate became more subdued. I wondered if he felt emotional about his eldest leaving and gave him space to process his feelings. But the sense of gloom persisted and deepened until I finally pressed him, worried that something was very wrong. Reluctantly, he shared that he and his wife were getting no rest - each night, they stayed awake into the small hours writing a list of dozens of things that they felt they should have taught their child. They felt that time was running out, and despite raising their child with great intentionality and love, all they could see was what they had not done. They were gripped by panic that they hadn’t done enough to protect, to prepare, and to infuse their child with values that would carry him into the next chapter of his life with a sense of knowing who he was and what he stood for. They were trying to “cram” the list into him before he headed to college. At that time, I found it hard to believe that two such capable and accomplished parents could not see what a fine, grounded, and principled young man they had raised. But now, as I stand in almost the exact same place, I understand their rationale all too well. 

When our children take big steps, they require courage, trust, and faith. These transitions bring many goodbyes to friends, teachers, and coaches who have been daily companions. The farewells underscore the history and bonds on which these relationships were built; they highlight the tethers that bind us to places and people. The trust in the next step asks our children to believe that, lying ahead, there will be new partners with whom to spend each day, new jokes to discover, new coursework over which to bond or groan, and new teachers who will light a spark or fan a flame. These emotions are highly conflicting. While our children feel the strong ties to a place where they have been deeply embedded, they are also asked to look forward and have faith that the unknown life ahead will be bright and vibrant. These emotions can even be overwhelming for us as adults, and so, as we approach the end of the school year, and even if our children are not approaching a milestone or the conflict of a goodbye, let us treat them with extra care as they process their transition of moving from one home to the next, and adjust from one pace to another.

For those students who are preparing themselves for their next big adventure, be it heading to college or coming to Chatham Hall as a new student, just remember that they are ready. They do not need us to give them lists or lessons or to cram them with last-minute information. We ourselves must trust. We need to remember that we have raised them with beliefs, values, and principles. We have provided them with role models, family connections, and traditions. We have, by bringing Chatham Hall into their lives, shown them that their authentic self is of great value. They are loved. They are capable. They have spirit. They have resilience. They are vibrant. They embrace and welcome change. They are Chatham Hall girls. 

I leave you with one of my favorite quotes, by Mary Shelley. It may never be more fitting or poignant than in this moment of goodbyes, and of new adventures. “The beginning is always today.”