The First Last: What I’d Tell the Parents Just Starting Out

First day of school. First day of senior year.

I took the second picture at 5 a.m. on the first morning of senior year. I was tired and excited at once, and I didn't know yet that it was the first of many lasts.

This week, my son Zach played his last soccer game.

It was a warm November day, but the sweat soon turned to tears when I saw his face. Everyone walked slowly toward their families, as if time had stood still. He hugged me first, and that's when I heard it all unleash: all the emotion of all those years and the realization that this was the last. So I just held him tighter. I told him that watching him on the field had been one of my greatest joys, that I was amazed by him, and that I was so proud. He held on tighter, too. It was one of the longest hugs we've had in a while.

Looking back, I had been collecting firsts all year. For us, it was soccer. For you, it might be dance, band, theater, or just the walk to the bus stop. Here is what I'd tell the parents just starting out.

Remember where you started.

In the first photo, I'm crouched down to his level. In the second, I'm on my tiptoes for his first-last good-luck kiss on the cheek. Somewhere in between, I was also his first coach. It was a coed league under the Friday night lights when he was five. We had just moved to town, and I had nearly forgotten about those early days.

From there, soccer never left. There were early mornings, late nights, rain, snow, sleet, and hail, with indoor and outdoor teams all year long. He tried wrestling, flag football, basketball, and baseball, and fell in love with lacrosse, but soccer was always there. I started on that sideline as his coach and ended on it as his mom.

Notice who is standing next to you.

Some of his best friends are still on those teams. They cheered him on and saw him through every year. His coaches became mentors, going from teaching skills to a group of boys to guiding a group of young men. And an amazing group of parents followed these kids the whole way. We celebrated the wins and held each other up through the losses. This soccer family has grown up together since age five.

Watch for more than the score.

Every overtime, every shootout, every season, and that final whistle meant far more than any result. Whether it's a scoreboard, a recital, or a report card, what matters is what they carry out the door. For him, it was the lessons, the friendships, the mental toughness, the discipline, and the fun.

Expect to be surprised.

My stoic son cried as he left that field. Until then, I may not have realized how much the game meant to him. Our kids feel more than they show, and sometimes the ending is when we finally see it.

I couldn't be prouder. That I know for sure.

To the parents just loading the wagon, digging through the car closet, and groaning at the early wake-up: remember how quickly that last hug will come. It will mean the world to both of you.

Whatever your "last" turns out to be, hold on a little longer.