Victoria has graduated from college. I wanted to share here a letter I wrote to her for her graduation. Fair warning; it's mushy.
To My Daughter - Upon Your Graduation
4 May, 2014
Ashley Victoria Stephens, you have completed your college
degree, and in a sense, your childhood as well. Graduating from college means
you have transitioned from being my child, under my supervision and responsibility,
into being an adult. You are no longer financially dependent on me, and you are
legally responsible for yourself. But more importantly, you are functionally
responsible for yourself. You don’t need me anymore, not as an authority
figure, not as a safety net. You have grown up. My ‘job’ of being your parent
is complete.
That doesn’t mean I’m cutting you loose, that I won’t be
there to help you make decisions and to guide you, or to support you when
things don’t work out. I’ll be there. But I’ll be there by your side, as your
friend and advisor. I won’t tell you what you have to do, only what I think you
should do. And the decisions will be yours. It’s okay; you’re ready. You’ve
been making your own decisions for a while now, really. And for the most part,
they’ve been good ones.
I want you to understand that I am impressed with the things
you’ve accomplished in your life already. You did very well in school. You got
yourself into a good college, and worked hard to do well there. You’ve searched
for, and found, opportunities that would affect – and start – your career. A
career which harnesses your passion and energy, not just a job. None of this
was handed to you; you did the work
to get there. And you didn’t stop there; you did more. Extra.
You’ve already done things that affect people. You have
helped folks that needed it. And you’ve accepted help when you’ve needed it; I
think that’s harder to do. You’ve touched people by teaching. Teaching is one
of the most important ways of touching other people, because that will stay
with them forever, especially when they, in turn, teach other people. And
you’ve let people teach you. You haven’t just been in classes figuring out what
needs to be repeated by rote to survive the test; you’ve learned lessons, asked
questions, and applied what you’ve learned. That’s what makes a teacher’s job
worthwhile – you’ve made your teachers’ jobs worthwhile.
You have been a friend. Sometimes a ‘for now’ friend, to
someone who was having a bad day and needed a friendly face. Sometimes a ‘for a
while’ friend, to someone at Berea or NSA or in the theatre. Even if you never
see them again, you have made their life better by being with them for that
time. And sometimes you have been a ‘for always’ friend. You may not even know
who those friends are, yet. Look back in a few years and see who they are. You
may be surprised – you may not.
But beyond the things you’ve done and the people you’ve
touched, I want you to understand that I am terribly, fiercely proud of the
person you have become. If someone asked me twenty years ago what I would want
for my daughter, I would have said, “I want my daughter to be kind. I want her
to love people. I want her to be proud of herself – and have a reason to be. I
want her to see beauty in the world, and to help other people to see it. I want
her to be strong and intelligent and decisive. I want her to be gentle and
tender. I want her to be happy. And every now and then, I want her to be sad. I
want her to succeed. And sometimes, I want her to fail. I want her to fall in
love, and sometimes, I want her to have her heart broken. I want her to help
people, and to let people help her. I want her to impress people. I want her to
make a difference to the people around her, and to the world.” Tori, you’re
only 21 years old, and you’ve already done all these things. Don’t stop. Ever.
So what do I want for you as an adult? The same things, of
course. Because you are only at the beginning of your life. This is the end of
your childhood, which means it’s the beginning of your adult life. You have a
metaphysical clean slate. What are you going to put on it? I hope you will
continue to do all the things I just said. I can’t imagine you won’t. And I want you to do more. Keep pushing yourself. Keep pushing others to do more, too. I
want you to be happy, whatever that means for you.
I want you to keep teaching. Maybe that means dance or
theatre to you; maybe it means martial arts. Maybe you’ll teach someone to
read. Maybe you’ll teach a child to tie their shoes or write their name.
Anything, but keep sharing of yourself as you always have. And I want you to
keep learning. Learn a new dance; read a book; go out and try something new. I
want you to perform, and I want you to see other people do things you never even
thought of.
I want you to be part of raising a child. Whether your child,
biologically or not, or someone else’s child. Being part of raising a child is
an experience that can’t be replaced by anything else. Raising you was the most
important thing I’ve ever done with my life. It’s a kind of creation that
changes the world, at least for you and for that child. Oh, and for every
single person that child comes into contact with.
I want you to love. I want you to surround yourself with
people that make you happy, and whom you make happy. I want you to travel some,
and have a home to come home to, not just a house. You know you’ll always have
my home to come home to, wherever I am. Loving, and giving of yourself, is a
huge part of who you are. And I know that won’t ever change.
I’m looking forward to seeing what you do with your life, my
daughter. I can’t wait to see what you do next that will impress me, thrill me,
worry me, and make me proud of you. No matter where you go or what you do, you
will always have my love, my support, my acceptance. Now go. And do.
