It's amazing how life changes.
Some of you were with me when my daughter was born. You accompanied me through her naming ceremony, witnessed as she was given the Craft name of "Sparrow" to use until she is old enough to choose a new path and a new name if that is appropriate for her to do so. About a year later, Sparrow was joined in this world by her brother, "Bear." You may remember that their mom and I divorced and that I'm living the life of a single dad.
Sparrow's mom is finding herself led away from paganism and toward Taoism, a path she has always felt drawn to. Likewise, my daughter is no longer an infant, but is now five years old and will be starting kindergarten on Tuesday.
Being pagan, I wanted to honor the milestone of Sparrow's first day of school. However, I faced the challenge of doing so with Sparrow's mom moving away from paganism. To complicate matters even more, I knew that all of the attention being focused on Sparrow would leave her brother, Bear, feeling terribly left out.
So what's a pagan dad to do?
Sparrow loves ritual. She's loves candlelight and cauldrons and has actually assisted our coven in a sabbat event where she took an active role in the main ceremony. On the other hand, Bear could care less. He's a stereotypical highly active little boy and I'm usually tremendously proud if, at almost four years old, he can pay attention for more than three minutes at a stretch without some form of encouragement.
So Sparrow would be open to a full ritual, a good chunk of which would be spent bringing Bear's focus back on the moment. To complicate matters, while the kids' mom has shared that she's moving to more of an Eastern path, I don't know how far that journey has taken her and what she would be open to. While we get along well, have co-parenting down to a science, and are becoming friends again, as with the majority of divorces there are issues that only time will resolve. If I spring something on her, she'll be open and touched by the sentiment. If I ask her to help me plan something, there's a chance we'll argue and I'll ultimately find myself planning something that doesn't include her - and I feel it's important for Sparrow's mom to be present when we honor this milestone.
The only approach was to keep it simple.
Anything that wasn't essential to the milestone had to be dropped. No candles. No cauldron. No circle. No ritual. What I wanted to focus on was the milestone itself. And I wanted Sparrow to have something, a small token, that would mark the event.
In the end, it boiled down to me asking their mom, "Can you stay for a second?" when she dropped them off. Without explanation, I had Sparrow and Bear stand side-by-side, facing their mother and I. I explained to Sparrow that she was now a big girl and that she would be starting kindergarten in only a couple more days. On cue, Bear's eyes began to water and he started to move toward his mother's embrace. I turned to him and said, "Buddy, you have a big job as the little brother. While your sister is at school, do you know what you have to do?" He wiped his eyes and stepped back next to his sister, shaking his head. "You have to play."
One by one, I let them reach into one of two velvet wine bags and pull out a "surprise."
Bear pulled out a Batmobile Hot Wheel and a similar car that I explained was the one that Robin drove (Bear currently prefers Robin to Batman). I explained that, among other things, he could play with these while his sister was at school.
Sparrow pulled out a simple necklace with three stones. I asked her, "How many people do you see in this room that love you?" She answered, "Three." I explained, "There's one stone for your mom, one stone for Bear, and one stone for me. When you wear it, they'll be next to your heart. That way, even when you're at school and we're at home, we'll still be close to your heart and you'll be reminded that we love you and are proud of you."
It was simple and special. The moment was observed and, as a pagan father, I felt like I had appropriately honored the milestone.
Later that evening, I realized that I could take the same approach with my non-pagan friends.
And after a little bit of reflection, I realized that I already did exactly that with my non-pagan friends.
What's important isn't the ritual, but the honoring of the transition. For instance, when one of my close friends broke up with his partner, I initially tried to simply be there as much as possible for him. When the situation reached it's transition point, I gave him a greeting card that reminded him of my friendship and reaffirmed that I was there for him. I couldn't choose to have him honor the milestone in his life - that's not my role and certainly not appropriate for me to do so. But I felt it necessary to honor the milestone of a close gay friend, one that I'd supported as he was married (despite the legal challenges to the union), and who, sadly, found that same relationship at an end. He was very much a married friend in my world, someone who we all secretly envied due to the wonderful relationship he was in. When it ended, he was suddenly a single friend and, what's more, he was a divorced friend. Not only had his world changed, but because he is so close to my heart, my world changed as well.
In the end, I learned two lessons. The first is that a ritual can be stripped down until nothing is left but the intent and the simplest manner of expressing that intent. Second, that when those close to us go through something - a child going to school, a friend's relationship changing - that sometimes their energy is so closely tied to our own that we also reach a milestone in that relationship. I'm no longer just a dad, I'm the dad of a student. My friend is no longer just a close companion, he's now a fellow divorcee.
The changes that happen in the lives of those we care deeply for can also impact our own lives. We don't have to do anything deeper than be aware of the intent of honoring that transition when we act. For instance, a co-worker of mine is looking for a part-time position so she can spend more time with her children. Our core work unit refers to each other as family and none of us have left in more than four years. When she finds a new position, we'll take her out to lunch as is our tradition. I don't have to do anything else than honor that lunch as a transition, knowing that she'll be missed and that our work family will change.
I hope that you find this insight useful. It has guided me well over the years.