Junior genius. Are Kindergarten graduations too much too soon?
My daughter just graduated. From Kindy. Apparently it’s the done thing. But what message does it send? Are we enforcing our expectations and turning up the pressure, even before our kids have started school?
It must be one of the proudest moments in any parent’s life.
Up there with weddings. And the arrival of grandchildren.
Graduation.
Your child’s name is called out. She (or he) strides out on stage. The mortar board elegantly placed atop her head. The gown flowing behind her as she accepts her certificate, carefully rolled and tied with ribbon.
The cameras flash. Everybody applauds.
Finally they’ve all been presented. The entire alumni on stage.
As one, they break into song.
“I can sing a rainbow.”
Did I mention Miss Academic is five?
This was her Kindy graduation.
Graduation. For kindergarten. I find it difficult to connect those words.
Surely, Kindergarten is something your kids just do. They have fun. The next year they start school. No big deal.
And judging by the other dads present, I figure I wasn’t the only one thinking it.
They rocked up in shorts, t-shirts and thongs.
The mums on the other hand. Dressed to impress. Who was this graduation for again?
A mum at work labelled me the ‘graduation grinch’. How could I be so negative?
A dad at work thought it was the start of too much pressure on our kids.
That’s what I figured. They’re children. Let them be children. Let them have fun.
Then again Miss Academic was having fun. She was working that song for all it was worth. She was smiling. Waving. Genuinely proud.
Her Kindy mates had put a lot of work into this night. And they felt special.
To be honest, it was more entertaining than a staid university ceremony.
Master Mouth’s mortar board fell off his head as he took his seat on stage.
“Bloody Hell,” he yelled. His dad’s face dropped into his hands. Everybody laughed. A priceless comedic moment that only a child could deliver.
And when the slideshow started the children fell momentarily silent.
Then they started recognising each other from their first days at childcare. They were much younger then. Still in nappies.
They started calling out names with each photo. They laughed.
They understood.
This was a big night for them.
Not just because they’d practiced their three songs over and over.
Not just because their parents were watching.
But because this signified the end of an important part in their life. And the beginning of a new phase.
They know they won’t see each other all the time next year.
They know their little group, which has grown remarkably close, is about to be split.
Master Mouth and one other classmate will be going to the same school as Miss Academic.
The rest are heading elsewhere. Including her best friend.
They’ll still see each other, but it won’t be the same as it is now.
That’s life.
And our kids are growing up. They’re learning and understanding more about life every day.
I expected Miss Academic to enjoy her night. I didn’t expect her, or her little cohorts, to be so aware of what was going on.
I didn’t expect one of her carers to start crying and tell her how much she’ll be missed next year.
And I certainly didn’t expect to find myself happily going along with this manufactured graduation.
But I did. Even if the gowns and hats were unnecessary.
After all, how could I deny my little girl one of the more momentous events of her young life?
Follow Michael on Twitter @MichaelCoombes
