Reading names for our school's commencement ceremony: The single most terrifying gig ever

This evening, the 102nd Wickliffe High/Upper School graduating class will walk across the stage and receive their diplomas.

It will be an occasion for celebration and reflection, as it always is.

I wouldn't normally attend this commencement, as all five of my kids have already graduated, but I'll be there tonight in a working capacity. I have the distinct honor and dread of being the person whose job it is to announce the graduates' names.

Look, I'm not shy when it comes to a microphone. I've announced hundreds of sporting events from the youth level to the minor leagues. I've done freelance MC work for corporate events. For some years I was the superintendent/MC for our church's annual Bible school. The announcing/hosting thing is what I do.

This is different. I always try to be perfect when I'm on the mic, but with a soccer game, for example, there's some leeway if you mess up a kid's name.

Not so with graduation. Each of those young people in the caps and gowns will have several friends and family members in attendance cheering them on and recording the moment on their phones for posterity.

The person who announces their name has one shot and one shot only to get it right. Botch it and the kid's parents will be stewing over the memory years later.

This is the first year I've taken on this assignment. Recently I talked it over with Ryan Beeler, the person who handled the reading of names at Wickliffe commencement for many years before me. Ryan is an articulate guy and an excellent teacher and football coach. He knows how to speak to large groups of people.

But when I brought up the fact that I was taking his place (as he is now teaching at another school) and asked him for any advice, the first thing he said was, "Oh man, I hated it."

He didn't hate commencement, of course. He hated the pressure of getting 100+ kids' names right at one of the most important moments of their lives.

I'm right there with you, Mr. B.

Still, I wasn't especially nervous about this until a month ago when I was talking with a soon-to-be Wickliffe graduate named John Colacarro. John is a funny, bright, highly accomplished kid who has achieved a lot in his high school career and will achieve a lot in whatever he chooses to do in life.

I casually mentioned that I would be reading names at commencement, and he jokingly told me, "Make sure you get mine right!"

I laughed. I've known Julie, one of John's moms, for decades. I was saying "Julie Colacarro" long before John was ever born.

Except I always said it the way most Wickliffe people said it: "col-uh-CARE-oh."

Turns out that's wrong. Dead wrong. John informed me it's actually pronounced "cola-CAR-oh." "Cola," as in the beverage, middle syllable "car" like the vehicle rather than "care."

I'm sorry, what? How did I never know that?

More to the point, he's one kid out of dozens whose names I'll be tasked with announcing. What other pronunciation traps await me tonight if I can't instinctively nail the one I thought I was most familiar with?

To be fair, I'll be attending commencement practice this morning, and I'll have the chance to ask each graduate personally how to say their names correctly.

But I won't lie: I'm already sweating this one out. No one will be more relieved tonight when the last kid gets his/her diploma and they all toss their caps into the air.

It will give me just enough time to run home and avoid the angry mob of families whose names I've butchered.

I guess I thought I would be more emotional about my youngest graduating from high school

For many years I've tried to imagine this point in time.

Even when our son Jack was just a little guy, I often looked ahead to his high school graduation. What would it feel like, knowing an era in our family was coming to an end? How would I react to the conclusion of a very long journey involving the Tennant family and Wickliffe schools?

After all, Tennants have been students in this district for 50 of the last 61 years. It began when my family moved here from Euclid in the spring of 1963 and continued with only the slightest of interruptions when my brother Mark graduated in June 1975 and I started kindergarten that September.

There was an 11-year hiatus from the time I graduated in 1988 until Elissa started at Wickliffe Elementary in 1999. But since then, there has always been some combination of our kids in the schools.

Now, come May 15th when Jack dons the cap and gown, it all comes to an end. As a family, we're exiting stage left.

What I expected, when I thought about it those many years ago, was that I would be filling up Facebook right about now with a series of sentimental and highly emotional posts. I figured I would be lamenting daily about time going by so fast and little Jack getting his diploma the same way his four siblings did before him.

But I haven't done that. I haven't felt especially moved to do it.

And I wonder why.

It's not that I don't care. That's not the case at all. It's just that I'm...tired, I guess. 

Many families have reached this point before us, and I think most would agree it's a long road. Even when it's an especially enjoyable road, as it thankfully has been with our children, it's still a long one. It takes its toll mentally, emotionally and even physically (I'm fine never again having to move another chair or heavy table around the middle and high schools as an event set-up volunteer, thank you very much.)

Terry is the one who keeps Jack organized and focused on a daily basis – as one must often do with 17-year-old boys – but I still find myself running on fumes as we approach the finish line.

Speaking of finish lines, it doesn't help that Jack's senior track season has been all but derailed by a recurring calf injury. This was supposed to be the year he peaked and ran his personal-best times over 800 and 1600 meters. But as I type this, he hasn't even participated in half the meets.

If you've ever had a calf injury, you know how long they take to heal and how easy it is to make them worse when you push yourself too hard trying to come back.

I suppose there's also the fact that, while Jack and Terry are at home doing school-related stuff, I'm at work earning the money we all need to live on. There are events and activities I miss.

That has always been the case, though. Nothing new there.

In the end, it may simply be one of two things:

(1) Maybe the rush of emotion and sentimentality is yet to come. Maybe, once that jam-packed mid-May weekend of prom, senior awards and commencement arrives, I'll start feeling all the feels I anticipated in the first place.

(2) Then again, maybe I'm mistaking quiet contentment for apathy. Maybe this is the way years of worrying about the kids, helping them through the tough times, and taking pride in their achievements was always going to culminate.

Maybe this all ends not with a bang, but a whimper.

A low-key, joyous whimper. Accompanied by a half-smile and a look ahead to all the exciting things yet to come in our lives.

We're not even in our mid-50s yet, Terry and I. Lord willing and the creek don't rise, we still have a lot to do and a lot to look forward to.

It just won't necessarily involve the Wickliffe City School District anymore.

I think it's what the word "bittersweet" is supposed to describe.

My daughter is graduating, and I'm (mostly) OK with that

My daughter Melanie graduates from high school tomorrow, and several times recently I've had people ask whether the whole graduation thing eventually becomes routine when you have a larger family.

Melanie is, after all, the fourth of our kids to graduate from Wickliffe High School. I suppose you might excuse Terry and me if, at this point, we become a little jaded by the whole thing.

But we're not. Or at least I'm not (and I think I can say with a degree of certainty that my wife isn't, either).

I've mentioned this before, but for many years I thought of Melanie as the baby of the family. That was because...well, because she WAS the baby of the family. At least until Jack came along. And even then she was still "Little Mel" to me.

Then what happens is that you go about your daily routine for days, months, and years on end. You work, you go on vacations with the family, you cut the grass, you wash the dishes, you clean the littler boxes every morning, etc. In short, you live your life.

And the next thing you know, your Little Mel is 18 and graduating. You're helping her with college applications and housing contracts and scholarship essays. And then she walks across that stage in an overpriced cap and gown, gets her diploma, spends a summer working and hanging out with friends, and she's back to being a freshman again.

Only this time it's as a college freshman. And nothing is ever quite the same again.

We have two college kids in our family right now. In a few months, Melanie will be the third. Elissa is out of college, but the effect is the same: They may technically live with you, but they're never really part of your household after that.

Or not in the same way, at least. At best, they're caught somewhere between being the little kid who lives upstairs and the young adult who splits time between your house and a dorm or apartment.

This isn't a bad thing, mind you. It's part of growing up and it has to happen. I WANT it to happen. It's the only way they become independent, functioning grown-ups.

It's just that I'm never ready for it when it actually occurs. I'll tell you that living on her own in a dorm – even if it's just 20 minutes away in downtown Cleveland – is going to be good for Mel. She needs that experience in order to grow and mature.

But the thought of our house without her there on a full-time basis is so sad to me. I love seeing her. I love talking to her. I love helping her when I can. I even love getting her glasses of water when she's laying on the couch and is entirely too lazy to get up and go to the kitchen herself (the family hates when I do that for her).

More to the point, what I love is not those individual experiences, but Melanie herself. She is smart, she is funny, she is hard-working (when properly motivated), and yes, she is beautiful. I mention that last because it's the least important thing on the list, but you won't find a dad in the world who wouldn't say it about his daughter.

Anyway, I guess the point is that, even though this is the fourth time we've done this, it is no less emotional than the first time. I'm so happy for Melanie and so proud of everything she has accomplished, and I know my heart will swell with pride when they announce her name tomorrow.

This is a great thing for her. A wonderful accomplishment. What experience has taught me, though, is that it's also bittersweet for Mom and Dad. Your child is growing up, which is what you want, but she's also starting the process of separating from you and beginning her own life.

And I don't know that any of us is ever 100% ready for that.

Five things I want to tell my son on this, the day of his high school graduation

Tonight my son Jared graduates, the third of our children to do so. Three down, two to go.

I will tell you I'm not pleased with the way this post turned out. I earnestly believe everything I'm trying to tell my son below, but none of it came out quite right.

Maybe that's because, while many life lessons are universal, the way we each learn and experience them is unique. So that even as I describe my own thoughts around a particular nugget of wisdom, I'm acutely aware that Jared's perspective on it is likely to be a bit different.

So I guess this list isn't perfect. No list of supposedly transcendent life lessons ever is. I hope the boy, and anyone else who happens to read this, accepts it in the flawed-yet-sincere spirit in which it is offered.

Jared, we bought you the laptop for graduation, and now here's the gift that comes without a receipt:

(1) You've got to try even when you don't feel like trying: Whatever you do, whether it's a job or a marriage or anything else important in your life, you have to be present and you have to be actively engaged. That means showing up and really trying. Every day. Sometimes that's going to be easy. Sometimes it won't be. You often hear it said of pitchers in baseball that they "just don't have it today," yet many times they stay in the game and "battle." They may not feel great, they may not feel motivated. But they have a job to do, and so they do it. Even when they don't feel like doing it. That's the essence of being a responsible adult: You show up and you work hard every time without exception.

(2) Feeling sorry for yourself is tempting, but it will get you nowhere: Sometimes you're going to feel like everything and everyone is against you. You just will. And you can safely allow yourself to feel that way for maybe 15 minutes. Then you need to move on. Seriously, you need to get over it and move on. Not everything is going to go your way. Not everyone is going to like or appreciate you. Oh well. There's not much you can do about that, so keep doing what you know is right. Keep showing up (see item #1 above), keep plugging away. It sounds simplistic, but it's the only way things are going to turn around. In essence, quit your crying and suck it up.

(3) Sports cliche #147 – "Worry only about the things you can control" – is real: You hear athletes talk about this all the time. They say they can't concern themselves with the things they can't influence. Instead, all of their focus is on the items over which they have specific control – their attitude, their preparation, their game plan. It's the same for those of us who don't get paid to play a sport. In your career, in your personal life, in everything you do, there is a long list of things over which you exert control. Concentrate on those things. Don't worry about other people's attitudes. Don't worry about external circumstances you can't change. Don't concern yourself so much with the unchangeable things that simply are. Direct your time and attention instead to what could be.

(4) Have a plan: Even if it only covers the next few years of your life, have a plan for what you want to achieve and how you're going to get there. Develop a vision for your life and what you want out of it. Otherwise your existence will be a series of randomly connected activities with no real end goal in mind. You'll get somewhere, to be sure, but probably not where you want to be. Just set aside some time every once in a while to think about the future, both short term and long. You'll be glad you did.

(5) Be grateful: You have so much in your life. You have a family who loves you more than you can understand (though you will understand if and when you have kids of your own). You have a roof over your head, a car to drive, food to eat. Lots and lots and lots of people in this world lack one or more of those things. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth whether or not you recognize it. If you spend your time lamenting the things you don't have, you will be one unhappy individual. I'm telling you, you don't want to be that guy.

 Happy graduation day, buddy. Enjoy every minute of it, because you've earned it.

Chloe graduates, life goes on

If everything went according to plan, my daughter Chloe graduated from high school last night.

I say "if everything went according to plan" because I'm writing this in mid-April and, you know, lots of things could happen between now and the time you're reading this that would prevent Chloe from receiving her diploma.

Murder, for instance. Chloe may commit murder in the next few weeks and be locked away for life well before commencement.

One time Chloe drew up a list (this is absolutely true) that she posted on our refrigerator headlined "People Who Won't Die When I Get a Sword." I was relieved that my name appeared on the list, but I genuinely felt for those who were excluded. They should watch their backs once Chloe gets her hands on a sword.

Because that's the thing with Chloe, you see. She's like Mike Tyson in that absolutely anything you hear about her, no matter how off the wall, could possibly be true.

She has always been a little bit crazy. And by "crazy," I simultaneously mean both "endearingly quirky" and "frighteningly unbalanced." It's one of the many things I love about her, and I believe it's a primary reason she has accomplished so much thus far in her young life.

Chloe is intensely self-motivated in the way only the most talented eccentrics can be. Whatever she sets her mind to, she does. And she does it well. Soccer, music, academics, lopping people's heads off. Whatever it is, Chloe is driven to be the best.

One result is that – again, if everything went according to plan and she avoided any sort of legal entanglement – Chloe had the honor of giving a speech at last night's graduation ceremony as the Salutatorian of her class. Her academic achievements earned her a complete scholarship to the University of Akron, where God willing she will study biomedical engineering beginning this fall.

I shouldn't call it a "complete" scholarship because I think we still have to pay for books. But saying that is really looking a gift horse in the mouth, since the scholarship covers four full years' worth of tuition and room and board. As a father of five children, I cannot tell you how grateful I am for that particular blessing.

She was also named the Most Valuable Player on her high school soccer team last fall based almost solely on a strong left foot and the ability to run seemingly forever and ever. She was never the fastest or most athletic person on that team, but she excelled through sheer force of will.

Which is how I expect she'll also succeed in life. When Chloe wants something, she's not to be denied, regardless of what natural tools or gifts she may or may not have. She wants it, she'll have it, she gets it. Maybe not every time, but close to it.

But you know what? While that's all well and good, and it largely describes who Chloe is, it neglects the fact that she also has an immense capacity to love. Her heart is bigger than even the Grinch's was when it grew three sizes in one day. She is passionate and she is loyal, and those are qualities I will always admire in her.

So working under the assumption that Wickliffe High School did indeed last night confer upon Chloe a piece of paper making her an official high school graduate, we hit another milestone in our family. We're not the first, and we won't be the last, but it does mean that we've gotten 40% of our children through the Wickliffe school system. Two down, three to go.

Congratulations, Chloe. You deserve all of the wonderful things people have said about you over the past few weeks, and I know you'll earn many more compliments along the way. I hope you know how much I love you, not only because I'm your father, but also because I want to stay on that list of people who are safe from your sword...

Pomp, circumstance and my little girl in an overpriced graduation gown

My daughter Elissa graduates from high school tonight.

Like millions of kids before her (and undoubtedly like millions of kids to come), she'll put on that cap and gown, have her name announced, walk across the stage, and sit back down an official high school graduate.

We have, of course, known this moment was coming since the day she was born. But it has only become real to me in recent days.

When you first have a baby, someone points out the year they'll graduate and everyone laughs because it sounds so distant. I remember thinking when Elissa was born in 1994, "Class of 2012! 2012? That's, like, the future. I wonder if we'll all have jet packs by then."

(NOTE: I didn't actually think that last part, but jet packs are for whatever reason part of everyone's vision of the future. There's even a band that calls itself "We Were Promised Jetpacks." I love that.)

Anyway, the class of any year that began with "20" seemed an awful long way away back then. And it was. But in the words of those immortal philosophers Smash Mouth, the years start coming and they don't stop coming. And the kindergartner evolves into the middle schooler, who in turn becomes the high schooler at an alarming rate.

And suddenly it's the day when your child graduates and you have absolutely no idea how that could have happened.

I'm not so much emotional about it as I am just plain amazed. There's no escaping the Universal Parenting Syllogism, which states:

All parents of high school graduates are old.

I am the parent of a high school graduate.

Therefore, I am old.

I have four more of these high school graduations to go and I'm sure they'll all be wonderful, but this is the first one and therefore it has its own reasons for being special. By the time Jack graduates, we'll be veterans at this. Of course, we'll also be in our mid-50s and likely older than 90% of the parents in attendance.

But first things first. Tonight we do it for the first time, and I'm so looking forward to it. Over the years I've coached many of the kids who will join my daughter on that stage, and had many of them over my house for play dates and sleepovers. I know most by name and can remember when they were...well, a lot younger than they are now.

And suddenly we're letting them loose into the world. Yikes. Nothing against any of them, but when you're 18, you're a baby. Seriously, you're almost a literal baby. I'm starting to think the secondary education system should extend into the 16th grade or so, just so these kids can get a little more seasoning, ya know?

But then again, we were all 18-year-old high school graduates at some point and we did OK, right? Some better than others, of course, but still, in the end, we were OK.

And that's seriously all I want for Elissa. I mean, bottom line, when I pray to God about her, I just ask that she be OK. Because "OK" implies a lot of things that parents want for their children: health, happiness, a fulfilling life. All of that. However she gets there, whatever God has in store for her, I just want her to be OK.

If Daddy can be on the receiving end of just one graduation gift this year, I think "OK" would be an excellent choice.