“It May Work Out”: The Evolution of a Thacher Parent
Richard E. Welch III P '16 speaks at Big Gymkhana Outdoor Chapel Service
Four and one half years ago I stood on this spot with my 13 year old son. We were in awe of Bill McMahon’s deep voice and sincere enthusiasm. A confident, articulate senior led us on a tour of the beautiful campus. But, now we walked alone to this view. A show of hands, please. How many of you remember your first view from this extraordinary spot? From here, didn’t you fall in love with this place?
I knew my son was enamored with Thacher. And, to my surprise, this hardened, cynical product of the American justice system also was beginning to sense that this place was truly extraordinary. Unfortunately, the purpose of my walk up here was to lay out the harsh realities of life to my son. I tried not to focus on the sublime beauty. Instead, I put on the concerned parental tone and announced: “Look, this is one of the most selective schools in the country and you probably won’t be accepted. In any event, we probably can’t afford it.”
This bad news set my son back for a moment, but the young are a strong, optimistic lot. Robert, whose growth spurt made him my height, put his arm over my shoulder and said in a voice that had recently become considerably lower pitched than mine: “But, Dad, you don’t know. It may work out. Like you say, dream big.” It’s always irritating to have a child quote your words back to you. But the irritation quickly faded and my heart did go out to my son as we were leaving the campus. He turned to me and said: “you know, dreaming big can be really scary.” Luckily, Bill McMahon and Kim Bastian worked their magic. And, thanks in large part to the generosity of the Thacher community and particularly the school’s trustees, a middle class, public school kid with a North-of-Boston accent came to Thachah and its haassehs.
But, being a Thacher parent is not all sweetness and light. As so many of the freshmen parents know, dropping a fourteen year old off and driving away is a true calibrated challenge for the adult. Then, after two long months, the first parent weekend arrives. Suddenly, the eager parent faces the reality that you have become an even greater embarrassment to your child than before. You arrive expecting devotional attention and discover that you are invading and disrupting your child’s world. During our inaugural parents’ weekend, Superstorm Sandy prevented the East Coast parents from leaving this paradise. But this brought no joy to our freshmen and we received only curt nods of acknowledgment as our precious children viewed, to their embarrassment, the parents who would not leave.
Parents become more acceptable by sophomore year, and are even happily anticipated by junior year. From the parental perspective, these are the golden years. Your child, growing under the Thacher dome, is becoming the young woman or man you always knew was in there, and they have truly found a home here. Indeed, they become as impressive as that tour guide of long ago.
Then, senior year arrives and your child is comfortably ensconced as one of the lords of the school. It is celebration mixed with anticipated nostalgia. Many a senior even makes the discovery that their parent miraculously has become more intelligent over the course of the last three years. And, as all the senior parents know, senior year presents the dreaded calibrated challenge of college acceptance. Just like the Thacher application process, the child is probably more stable and grounded than the parent.
You wish you could be there to hug your child when the bad news comes from the long-shot, but dearly hoped for, college. Then, the next round of decisions arrive. Unlike the days of fat and thin envelopes, these kids know the precise date and time to click on the college website for the decision. In my son’s case, it was a Friday at 5 PM, Pacific Coast time. Using my elementary math skills—the truth is that you really don’t need AP Calculus in real life—that translated to 8 PM East Coast time. My wife, Judith, and I made sure to be home as the clock struck eight. No call. 8:15, 8:30, 9 o’clock, no call. We fretted and decided that he must be dealing with the disappointment and is too embarrassed to call. I composed soothing and encouraging words to utter when the forlorn boy called. 9:30 no call. 9:45 and Judith decided to go to bed.
Finally sanity returned. I slowly realized that this particular college’s decision didn’t matter. My son already had achieved the most important acceptance—to be part of Thacher. This was where he was able to fully develop his character; this was where he grew passionate about certain subjects; this was where he met friends for life. I knew I had regained mental balance when I began to think of cake. I often think of such things now that my wife and I live in an empty nest suddenly devoid of deserts. It was one of those three layer cakes. The family had baked the first layer, Thacher the second, and now some college or university would contribute the third layer. Life would then provide the fun and delicious butter cream frosting.
Eventually, the phone rang. My son had been out riding, practicing the ‘rescue race’ and having a great time. The entire college decision business had not only slipped his mind; it wasn’t even remotely on his mind. I smiled as I pictured him in his dirty jeans and boots and armed with the appropriate mental attitude. By then, I had achieved a certain peace with any decision. There are plenty of fine colleges, but few Thachers. Even parents eventually learn this.
But, students, you probably already know that parents evolve some, but they don’t change that much: so, once and a while, you still need to drape that arm over their shoulder and say: “you know, it may work out. Like you used to say, dream big.”
And while I am talking to the students, do continue to dream big. Sure it can be scary, but you’ve done it before. You have the strength and self-knowledge developed right here. While Thacher is an incredible place, and nothing will replace it, it is but a foundation. The best really is yet to be. Go out and grab new, wonderful challenges. As a truly extraordinary Head of School repeats at the beginning of every school year: “Build thee more stately mansions.”
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