Ordinary is overrated.

This one is personal. *

Taking pictures before prom. Clapping when the diploma is handed to them. Driving around college campuses until they find the one that seems to fit. Dropping them off at their dorm with a mix of intense pride and debilitating sadness. These moments are special. They are also expected. They are on the list of children’s milestones that we assume as parents we will get to witness and share. They are not extraordinary for many people. 

My father died when I was 17. Before prom. Before high school graduation. Before college tours and dorm drop offs. My dad did not get the expected things. And his death was brutal. A plane crash caused by a bomb put on board by terrorists. Absolutely brutal. 270 innocent lives cut short in an instant. My life has not been ordinary since that day.

There was a point in my son’s sophomore year of high school when we decided to start looking at colleges just to give him a sense of what might spark interest for him. I remember a moment in a hotel restaurant in Boston before some college visits. Just me and him chatting over Italian food. I don’t remember what we were talking about, but I do remember an overwhelming feeling of “this is what I’ve always dreamed of.” A chance to be there beside my children as they grew, as they made the decisions that would set them on their path. A chance for the ordinary. To be there with him at that moment felt like nothing short of a miracle.

But the universe had different plans. My son was in a band. And by junior year of high school, it was very clear that this band was good. A manager took them on. Before we knew it, young fans were lining up outside their shows, and my hope for ordinary was fading. Suddenly, my son did not really care much about school at all and did not see college in his future. He was determined to take a different path. He did not want the ordinary I was seeking.

One night after it was determined they were taking a month off of school to open for a music artist in Europe, I sobbed myself to sleep. I was unbelievably overwhelmed because I felt like the wheels had fallen off the train. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to be ordinary. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel happiness and excitement for him. It wasn’t that I thought rock star wasn’t an appropriate job title. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to dream big. Of course I did. In fact, I believed in him and his friends so much. I knew deep inside that if they chose to do this, there would be no stopping them. They would be extraordinary. But I just wanted to go on college tours with my kid cause I never had the chance to do that with my dad.

I had to let go of what I wanted to allow room for his dreams. This was his life after all, not mine. It was not easy, but then the universe stepped in to assist. In March of my son’s senior year of high school, the COVID lockdown prevented him from finishing off his high school experience with any normalcy. There would be no prom. There would be a graduation, but it would be over zoom. There would be no clapping in the audience when he received his diploma. There would be no college visits or college drop offs for any single graduate from his high school. These were not ordinary times.

There was a surrender that took place for me once COVID hit. Coming face to face with a once in a lifetime pandemic will do that to a person. One second I’m sobbing myself to sleep because my son does not want to make the ordinary decision. The next moment I  am feeling so relieved that he chose a different path while most of his high school friends started their next phase in a dorm room on zoom. 

As expected, my son and his friends are soaring. So is my daughter whose choice to pursue music and forego college didn’t even cause my heart to skip a beat. My quest for the ordinary has led to extraordinary kids doing extraordinary things. It is the greatest joy of my life to see them proving me wrong

Me and my dad, 1988.

*Published with my son’s permission.