My son graduated college. Wow, did I do an amazing job! | Opinion

It’s college graduation season, and as I proudly watched my eldest hurl his cap into the air, I couldn’t help thinking: “Wow. I am AMAZING. What a tremendous accomplishment by me.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of him too. He did the studying and the grade-getting and the whole “make friendships that will last a lifetime” thing. But I think parents like myself should be honest about this moment. We’re the ones who toiled and stressed and dished out cash like malfunctioning ATM machines. We, long before these glorious college years, were the diaper-changers, the piano-lesson drivers, the advice-givers, the shoulders to cry on.

We built these now-functioning adult humans and made sure they got an education, allowing them to go forth and fix the world we accidentally messed up, probably because we were distracted helping them with their homework.

Why was I not celebrated at my son's college graduation?

After the ceremony, as I watched my son beaming with pride and whooping with classmates, I considered humbly shouting, “Pipe down, you tassled twit, this is my moment!”

He could never have made it to this far without my expert parenting. In fact, he likely would’ve been eaten by wolves if I hadn’t given him a home and fed him and whatnot.

I did an amazing job as a parent. The boy would be lost without me.

For years, I stood as a role model for the boy, showing him the value of hard work and dedication and handsomeness. I taught him to not eat things that are poisonous, to not walk in front of cars, to always believe that pancakes make a perfectly good dinner. I listened to him talk about things that, if we’re being honest, were pretty boring. I even praised his grade-school artwork, which was marginal at best and lacked the intellectual heft one expects from a macaroni-noodle medium.

Were it not for me, the kid wouldn’t be graduating from college. He’d be a lost soul living out of an abandoned train car, or a mysterious wildling roaming the forest. 

I put my all into crafting this young man, like Dr. Frankenstein, only without all the sewing together of random body parts. Any graduation celebration should be for me.

We parents should be applauded for our hard work

Granted, my wife can make an argument she had something to do with forging a college graduate. And she’s welcome to make that argument as soon as she gets her own newspaper column. But until then, let’s get back to me and how amazing I am in the parenting department.

Do you know how dumb my son was when he was first born? The boy couldn’t even talk. I had to teach him to do literally everything except burp, and even that required a little coaching.

So now we hit that pivotal moment in life when he, an adult in full, gets his degree and enters the world like some Mr. Big Shot, and what happens? He and his fellow graduates get all the applause and the gifts and the nice cakes that say “Happy Graduation!”

Where’s my party? Where’s my card with a generous cash gift tucked inside? Why, at the ceremony, were all those other parents clapping for HIM? In a just world, they would have all turned in unison and clapped at me, as a I modestly basked in the richly deserved feting of my dad skills.

Even at college graduation, it has to be all about our children, blah blah

And when the other parents’ kids got their parchments, I would have gladly clapped for them. (The parents, I mean. Not the kids. They’ve been getting praised for 18+ years; it’s time for them to toughen up. Life is hard.)

But no, once again, it was the children who got all the love and attention. Ohhhh, you graduated with honors, you’re so amazing! Sweetie, you’re a college graduate, the future looks so bright! 

What about the marvelousness of the parents? Why aren’t college graduations just about us?

I was about to throw a pity party for myself, but then I saw the graduate

As the ceremony wound down, I nearly stormed out to throw myself a nice pity party, but we had to meet up with the new fancy-pants graduate and take some pictures. 

Then I saw him, tall and robed and smiling under a ridiculous mustache that I in no way endorsed, imbued with that done-with-college glow.

And my heart melted. And I let it all be about him.

But so help me, that’s the last time. From now on, it’s all about dad. No way I’m going to let people think that once-little boy is the center of my world.

Those days are over.

At least until the next time.

Follow USA TODAY columnist Rex Huppke on Bluesky at @rexhuppke.bsky.social and on Facebook at facebook.com/RexIsAJerk.