To My First Girl, On Graduation Day

To my first love, Rowyn,

I had you when I was just 19. Barely out of childhood myself. We grew up side by side — me stumbling through early adulthood, you learning to walk, then run, then fly. We figured out life together, you and me. Not always gracefully. But always with love.

Yesterday, I watched you graduate from Boston Latin School — one of the most rigorous, demanding, and historic schools in the country.

And even though I always believed in you, something about that moment — seeing you walk across that stage, head high, gown flowing, the world at your feet — made time stop. You were radiant. Calm. Ready. And I just sat there thinking: She did it. She really did it.

Not because I ever doubted you — but because watching you in that moment felt like watching the future arrive.

I’ve always said you’re not your average kid — and I know some people probably thought I was just being a mom. But I meant it. You are cut from a different cloth.

I knew it when you started learning Japanese in 4th grade — partly through curiosity, some through curriculum. I knew it when you stayed up late in 6th grade writing the most intricate, emotionally rich novels — worlds you built from nothing but imagination and determination. I knew it during our countless bookstore trips — when money was tight, and we’d negotiate which 500+ page books came home and which ones had to wait. And especially when your face lit up after finally getting your hands on that first-edition German history book. That spark — it’s always been there.

And then there was the theater.

I still remember you in The Lion King, small but mighty. There was something about seeing you on that stage that felt like watching you step into your power for the first time. Fast forward to your final year at BLS, directing Mamma Mia — commanding the stage in a whole new way.

You’ve always had that presence, that depth, that quiet strength. Simply wise beyond your young, delicate years.

I’m never not amazed by you. Your beautiful grace. Your sharp mind. Your elevated sense of humor. Your unwavering heart. You’re one of the most grounded, thoughtful, and quietly powerful people I know. You carry yourself in a way that makes people want to rise to your level — not because you ask them to, but because you inspire them to.

It’s no surprise you won the Jeff Parrotti 2025 LGBTQ+ Leadership Award. You lead by example. You live with courage. And you show others what it means to belong simply by being exactly who you are.

Your sisters have the most incredible example in you — not just of achievement, but of compassion. Of integrity. Of how to walk through life with curiosity, conviction, purpose, and kindness.

Now, as you head off to college — I want you to know something:

You’re going to go on to do extraordinary things — but more than that, I know you’re going to make this world better. You already have. Just by being you.

And yes, I know you’ll roll your eyes when I say this (because you already have), but I am too obsessed with you. Always have been. Always will be. It’s just… hard not to be when you’re you.

This chapter is only the beginning. Wherever you go next, whatever you choose, you’ll have my love, my pride, and my belief in you tucked in your pocket — always.

We did it, my girl. But more importantly — you did.

I love you endlessly.

With all my heart,

Mom