‘The days are long, but the years are short.’ – Gretchen Rubin
Let me share with you a recent morning epiphany where I finally understood a little more clearly what this parenting gig was really about.
We were running late. Again. My seventeen-year-old was taking forever to find her school jumper (the same one she’d worn every day for three years), my wife checked out and left for work and I was left wondering whether we’d get to school on time for her last ever school athletics carnival. While I waited I filled the time standing in the kitchen barking instructions about sunscreen, water bottles, and why breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Not my finest moment!
Then my daughter looked up from her bag-packing chaos and said, “Dad, why are you always rushing us? This is my last athletics carnival. Ever!. I’m cool if I’m late.”
And I realised I’d turned into that parent. The one who is treating the final months of Year 12 like high-stakes military operations that must be executed with precision timing, perfect preparation, and the misguided belief that exam outcomes are the only measure of success.
I’d forgotten the most important thing about these last precious months before she leaves home: they’re supposed to be savoured, not survived.
The Speed Trap We’ve All Fallen Into
Something nobody tells you about the final year of school: we’ve turned it into a competitive sport where the prize is getting to the next milestone faster than everyone else. University applications by September, perfect graduation photos, formal dress shopping, and endless conversations about her life plans that sound more like business meetings than family chats.
Dr. Alison Gopnik calls this “the carpenter approach” – we’ve become contractors trying to build specific outcomes instead of gardeners nurturing the final season of growth. We’re so busy optimising every moment of Year 12 that we’re missing the actual magic happening right in front of us.
Meanwhile, we’re standing in school car parks comparing notes with other families about university courses while secretly panicking that these seventeen years have evaporated faster than our ability to remember when they stopped needing us to tie their shoes.
The Connection We’re Missing
What I’ve learned from watching families navigate this transition: the ones who handle it well aren’t frantically managing every moment. They’re the ones who understand that connection trumps perfection every single time.
Hunter Clarke-Fields reminds us that attention is like sunshine for relationships. What you focus on grows. When we’re doom-scrolling university requirements while our Year 12s are trying to share their day, we’re literally withdrawing our sunshine from the relationship they need most.
The teenagers who thrive during this pressure-cooker year aren’t necessarily the ones with the most structured study schedules. They’re the ones who feel genuinely known and supported by the adults in their lives. Research consistently shows that strong relationships act as a buffer against stress, anxiety, and the overwhelming nature of final year decisions.
The Beauty of Ordinary Moments
For months, I treated our morning school runs as dead time – something to get through efficiently while mentally planning my day. Then one morning, I actually listened to my daughter singing in the passenger seat, commenting on random things she noticed, sharing drama about teachers I’d never met.
Nothing earth-shattering was happening, but I realised this was it. This was the end of childhood. Not some Instagram-worthy graduation moment, but just a kid singing badly to Triple J, secure in the knowledge that someone who loved her was driving her safely to her final term of school.
That’s when I understood that the ordinary moments aren’t filler between the important stuff. They are the important stuff. The bedtime check-ins when she processes friendship drama. The weekend coffee conversations that stretch for an hour because nobody’s rushing. The way she still finds me when she’s stressed about an assignment, even though she’s technically old enough to handle it alone.
Creating Connection in the Chaos
The families who savour these final months have figured out that presence isn’t just feel-good parenting philosophy – it’s practical strategy. Here’s what they do differently:
They protect conversation time. Car rides become phone-free zones. Dinner happens without discussion of tomorrow’s deadlines. They ask questions like “What’s one thing about today that surprised you?” instead of “Did you finish your assignment?”
They notice what they’ll miss. The terrible music choices, the way she unconsciously reverts to childhood gestures when tired, how she still wants to share the gossip from her friend group even though she’s almost an adult.
They embrace the detours. When she wants to take the long way home to finish her playlist, they remember they’re not just getting from A to B – they’re collecting final stories.
The Long Game
What I’ve learned from this journey: your Year 12 won’t remember whether you stressed about their study schedule or micromanaged their university applications. They’ll remember whether you were present for their final year – not managing it, but experiencing it alongside them.
The university research will survive. The dishes can wait. But this phase of their childhood? It’s happening once, right now, and it’s going faster than you think.
Don’t miss it while you’re busy trying to perfect it. Sometimes the biggest gift we can give our kids is simply showing up, putting the phone down, and remembering that relationship is the foundation everything else is built on.
After all, as Rita Pierson reminds us, “Kids don’t learn from people they don’t like.” And they certainly don’t share their hearts with parents who are too distracted by tomorrow’s problems to hear today’s stories.
