By Mandy Feder
My oldest daughter, Nicole, just graduated from college. She didn”t walk though.
“No thanks, mom, I just don”t want to,” she said. I guess she didn”t require that symbolic rite of passage in order to pass through the proverbial threshold into adulthood.
I was scratching my head when I told my dad on the phone. He chuckled. I could hear his smile stretch from South America to Northern California. “I didn”t want to walk either,” he said. He told me that in high school, his mother made him walk because the commencement took place at Carnegie Hall and relatives were attending.
In college he tried to forgo yet another date with the mortar boards and silken body tents, but the speaker was one of distinction from Washington D.C. and he was informed by the department head that anyone who didn”t walk wouldn”t graduate.
That made me smile.
I didn”t walk for my second college graduation either. The three of us, of three generations, kindred spirits, just are not driven by those types of traditions, nor are we fully cognizant of the final ceremonial goal. The learning, rather than that sheet of paper, drives us, I suppose.
“When”s your graduation ceremony?” My younger daughter Miranda asked Nicole. Miranda continued to ask questions in a rapid-fire progression, not affording Nicole time to respond. When Nicole informed her polar-opposite little sister that she wasn”t participating, Miranda was aghast, appalled and confused. “What?!? But, why? That”s why you go to college. It”s the big moment!” Miranda said emphatically.
Nicole shook her head and smiled. “Nope, not me; I went to learn and I did. Not to wear a cap and gown, sit amongst strangers in the heat and shake hands with administrators I”ve never seen,” Nicole explained. “I learned what I set out to learn, that”s all.”
The rationale fell on deaf ears though. “But you”ve got to walk!” Miranda said.
Nicole took a deep breath, readying herself for the next round of explanations.
“No, Miranda, you”ve got to walk. I will be there cheering when you do. It means something different for you than for me. It”s not bad, just different. We see things in our own way, alright?”
Nicole exhaled. “Make peace with it, Pooh-Manchu.” (Nicole”s nickname for Miranda that evolved from Miranda Panda to Miranda Panda Pooh Bear and finally to Pooh-Manchu).”
Nicole is a somber and reserved soul. She was born with an air of omnipotence that seemed prophetic. Her little blond eyebrows were poised in a position of pondering, even upon her arrival. She entered the world in the evening, in a room of dusky Massachusetts moonlit luminescence. Her eyes carefully scanned the room and the faces around her.
When she started speaking she used big words, always in the correct context. She never really babbled or used baby talk. Her meticulously chosen dialogue carried impact and meaning.
In school she didn”t seek friendships for sheer companionship. She genuinely bonded with people, but she also had the innate ability to silently exit from relations that had the potential of toxic energy.
When she was in eighth grade I asked her why she didn”t hang out with her friend Jenny anymore. “She doesn”t make healthy choices, mama. Let”s just leave it at that,” she responded. “I know you think she”s a sweet girl, but she”s pretty troubled.” I told her I trusted her judgment and that was, and still is, absolutely true.
Throughout her childhood I tossed her tidbits of advice and catch phrases I gathered and collected over the years from my own role models. I doubt she needed them. The statements were semi-folklore-ish attempts that I thought she might pass along to her children one day.
I take no credit for Nicole”s sense of self nor her accomplishments and solid backbone. She was born that way and I stand awestruck as I observe and learn from her.
I am her mom, but she”s my mentor.
Congratulations on your graduation, Nicole.
Mandy Feder is the Record-Bee managing editor. She can be reached at mandyfeder@yahoo.com or 263-5636 ext. 32.
