Watching My Oldest Graduate and Reflecting on the Journey
Kailey, yesterday, I had the honor of watching you walk across the stage at Bucknell University to receive your Bachelor's degree with honors. As I sat in those uncomfortable folding chairs that seem to be standard issue at graduation ceremonies everywhere, I found myself doing what parents do at these moments: thinking about how impossibly fast twenty-two years can pass.
But mostly, I was remembering.
Full Circle at Bucknell
There's something almost poetic about the fact that you graduated from the same university where we really started our family journey twenty years ago. I can still picture that July day in 1995 when we first stepped onto Bucknell's campus together. While I was nervously navigating my first week in a new job, the two-year-old you was fearlessly conquering the jungle gym at Sunflower (the campus daycare) and treating the whole university like your personal playground.
Even then, you had this remarkable ability to make any space your own. Whether you were climbing to the top of that jungle gym or, just a few months later, getting ready to go trick-or-treating with your little brother in your Tigger costume, you approached everything with a combination of determination and joy that has become your signature.
Always the Performer, Always the Healer
Looking back through photos and memories, I can see now how your love of performing was always paired with something deeper—a genuine desire to care for others and make them feel better. When we lived in Mechanicsburg, you loved being a munchkin in the high school's production of The Wizard of Oz, and you threw herself into chorus and the school district's Songfest with the same enthusiasm you brought to everything else.
But even during our family Thanksgiving "Boeke Bowls"—those wonderfully chaotic family gatherings where everyone was expected to contribute some form of entertainment—your performances often had a nurturing quality to them. You weren't just performing for applause; you performed to bring the family together, to make us smile, to heal whatever small rifts or stresses the year might have created.
That same spirit carried you through high school, where I saw you channel your love of performance into cheerleading. But even then, when I'd watch you on the sidelines encouraging the team and energizing the crowd, I could see that what you really loved wasn't the spotlight—it was the your her energy could lift other people up.
Daddy's Little Girl (Who Always Knew Her Own Mind)
The photos from those early years tell a story I sometimes forgot in the midst of living it. There's you at one year old, covered in chocolate/marshmallow Easter Bunny, grinning like you'd just discovered the secret to happiness. There you are at Disneyland, intently steering one of those spinning teacups with Faith and Teddy, already showing the focus and determination that carried you through organic chemistry and someday the MCAT.
And yes, there are all those "Daddy's Little Girl" moments—the Cubs games where you wore your Cubs hat with such pride, the quiet times when you'd let me read to you or help with homework. Those moments were precious not because you were compliant or easy (though often you were), but because even as a little girl, you chose to share them with me. Kailey, you were never the kind of child who needed to be coaxed into affection; she gave it freely, genuinely, and with her whole heart.
Through the Messy Years and Beyond
I won't pretend your teenage years were always smooth sailing. Like most parents, I occasionally found myself wondering if the sweet little girl who used to curl up with me for bedtime stories was still in there somewhere, buried under homework stress and the perfectly normal process of figuring out who you wanted to become (newsflash, you were still there).
Those years taught me one of the hardest lessons of parenting: the art of quiet, patient watching. Standing back while your child makes mistakes you could have helped them avoid. Biting your tongue when you see them choosing the difficult path instead of the easier one you could have shown them. Watching them stumble when a simple word of caution might have kept them upright. Often, I wasn't good at any of those things, but I never stopped loving or caring about you. Yes, I wish I could have those days, weeks, and months back, but please know that I am grateful for seeing you become the person that you are - no matter the temporary heartaches.
But I did learn something important during the times when I had to step back and just watch: I could still be your trampoline. When you fell—and you did fall, as all young people must—I was always there to give you the spring you needed to bounce back up and take another crack at whatever challenge had knocked you down. I would have loved to solve the problem for you, but I hope settling for helping you find the resilience to solve things yourself will serve you well.
Here's what I learned during those years: You never stopped being exactly who you'd always been. That determination I saw on the jungle gym? It carried her through honors classes and college applications. That nurturing spirit from our family gatherings? It translated into genuine friendships and a growing certainty that you wanted to spend her life helping people heal.
By the time you became one of my "Santa's Elves"—trusted with the family Christmas magic and the responsibility of keeping wonder alive for her younger siblings—I realized that you'd successfully navigated the transition from being a child who believed in magic to being a young adult who could create it for others.
The Doctor She Always Wanted to Be
When people ask me if I'm surprised that you chose medicine, I have to laugh. From the time you were little, whenever anyone asked what you wanted to be when you grew up, the answer always seemed to be the same: "A doctor." Not because it sounded impressive or important, but because you genuinely wanted to help people feel better.
What does surprise me, in retrospect, is how perfectly your path prepared you for that goal. All those years of performing taught you how to be present with people, how to project confidence when others needed to feel safe, how to read an audience—or in this case, a patient. Your cheerleading experience showed you how to be part of a team while also taking individual responsibility for a role. Even those chaotic family Thanksgiving performances taught her how to bring calm and joy to stressful situations.
The Graduate
Watching you walk across that stage in your cap and gown this week, I wasn't seeing the end of your childhood or even the end of your college career. I was seeing the beginning of the next chapter in a story that's been remarkably consistent from the very beginning: a young woman who wants to use her considerable talents to make other people's lives better.
Kailey, I know your are going to be heading to medical school in a year or so, and while I know it will be challenging in ways that even your demanding undergraduate coursework wasn't, I'm not worried. I've had twenty-three years to watch you tackle new challenges, and you've never failed to rise to the occasion.
What Comes Next
As I write this, I realize that one of the greatest gifts of being your father has been watching you grow into exactly who you were always meant to be. The little girl who climbed fearlessly to the top of the jungle gym has become a young woman who isn't afraid to tackle the mountain of medical school. The child who performed with such joy for our family has learned to bring that same warmth and authenticity to everything she does.
I have no idea what specific challenges medical school will bring, but I expect that you'll meet them with the same combination of determination, compassion, and grace you have shown throughout your life. Please still call me when you need encouragement, and know that I'll probably still worry about you more than I should. But mostly, I'll continue to do what I've been doing for the last twenty-two years: watching with pride and amazement as you becomes more yourself with each passing day.
So congratulations, Kailey. You've earned every bit of recognition you received this week, and you've earned something even more valuable: the confidence that comes from knowing exactly who you are and what you want to accomplish.
The little girl who wanted to be a doctor has grown into a young woman with the knowledge, skills, and character to make that dream a reality. You've always been Daddy's Little Girl, but more importantly, you've become your own person—someone I'm incredibly proud to know, and incredibly excited to watch as you embark on this next great adventure.
Break a leg, kiddo. But then again, you always do.
