Recently, I flew cross country from Denver to the New York City area for one reason and one reason only.

To attend my granddaughter’s graduation.

From preschool.

Yes, you read that correctly.

Preschool!

And I have to admit, I was pretty excited about it.

My granddaughter, Edith—Edie to everyone who knows her—is four years old. She was named after one of the most important people in my early life: my paternal grandmother, Edith.

That alone gives her name a special place in my heart.

Of course, I may be slightly biased, but Edie is also just about the cutest four-year-old you have ever seen.

And this was a very big day for her.

Not merely another day when her parents picked her up from school.

This was a real graduation.

It was held in a nearby church. There was a printed program. There was a procession. There was music. There were awards. And there were diplomas.

Serious business.

Eight children were graduating from the Scarborough Presbyterian Children’s Center Class of 2026.

Just eight.

Somehow, the smallness of the class made the occasion feel even bigger.

The church pews were filled with parents, grandparents, siblings and friends. Every person there had come for the same reason: to watch these eight children take one small—but very important—step forward.

The children marched in and took their places.

And I found myself watching Edie much more than I watched the ceremony.

Perhaps that was partly because of my own ADHD. I was especially curious to see how a four-year-old would manage to stay attentive through a program that was not particularly short.

The answer was: not always very well.

She kept looking over at the boy sitting next to her instead of paying attention to the speaker.

During the songs, she tried to mouth the words she had supposedly memorized. Sometimes she appeared to know them. At other times, she seemed to be hoping the words would somehow come back to her.

Every so often, she looked around as though she were wondering:

“What exactly is going on here?”

Occasionally, she looked out into the audience and found her mother and father.

But not very often.

Most of the time, Edie seemed to be in her own world.

And perhaps that was exactly where a four-year-old at her preschool graduation ought to be.

Then came the songs.

There were songs about encouraging one another, smiling, laughing, loving and moving up to kindergarten. Song sheets were handed out to everyone in the church, and all of us joined in.

Some more enthusiastically—and probably more tunefully—than others.

Then came the awards.

Each child was recognized for something that made him or her special.

One was the biggest hugger.

And Edie received the award for being the most artistic.

That seemed exactly right.

There was laughter. There were proud smiles. And, yes, there were some tears.

Because even at four years old, change is a complicated thing.

The children were leaving teachers they loved, classrooms they knew and friends who had been part of their everyday lives.

They were moving on.

To kindergarten.

To new teachers, new friends, new expectations and a slightly bigger world.

Edie’s parents were enormously proud.

And so was her grandfather.

Very proud.

It would be easy to dismiss an occasion like this as a small milestone.

After all, it was only preschool.

There will be other graduations, God willing. Elementary school. Middle school. High school. Perhaps college and graduate school.

But sitting in that church, watching those eight children and seeing Edie walk forward to receive her diploma, it did not feel small at all.

It felt enormous.

Perhaps that is one of the things grandchildren teach us.

The world measures importance by size, expense and consequence.

But love measures it differently.

A child takes a few steps across the front of a church.

She receives a rolled-up piece of paper.

She looks around, perhaps still wondering exactly what is going on.

Her parents beam.

Her grandfather has flown across the country to watch.

And suddenly, a preschool graduation becomes one of life’s great occasions.

A moment worth remembering.

And, most certainly, a moment worth showing up for.