by Traci S. Sanders

When my kids were young and a bright conversation turned cloudy; or they asked one question ten different ways looking for the answer they really wanted; or, more often than not, when they procrastinated because they didn’t want their day to end, I would say “The End…New Story…” 

This worked really well for years, until… they used it against me. It was bound to happen. As my dad loved to say: “Good minds create. Great minds steal.” Although, I don’t think he was talking about his grandkids. Case in point:

“Clean your room!”

[Insert blank stare here]

“The End…New Story.”

Clever, but single digits only hold so much sway. So, new rules were created, like “Only I’m allowed to say that! The End…New Story.”

Today, my kids laugh at this (although I’m pretty sure they will use this little tactic when they’re parents).

They’ll also learn, as their children get older, that this phrase takes on a very different meaning.

Today, “The End” comes with a college and high school graduation, a new job, and a new school. This “New Story” is a doozy. 

But milestones are like that. They’re a moment with a lot of history because getting from There to Here comes with a lot of, well, miles. Not just those in the car, in the hallways, and the home. Of course, those count, but the path – the miles and miles of words, that make up this time, because they brought us to this moment. And that, I think, is what makes milestones so bittersweet. In essence, the familiar and worn down path, written with millions of steps and stories, has finished. 

And we know how it ends. Happy and hopeful. Just the way we wanted, but like any great story, we’re a bit sad to see it go. And so we turn the last page, hold it a bit longer than the rest, before we slowly let go and gently close the book.

“The End…New Story.”