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No matter how much taller he is than I, how big his muscles are, or how old he is, he will always be my baby. The same goes for the baby girl.

This spring, our young man graduates from high school. He is the baby, the boy, the young man who first taught me how to be a mother. He taught me to love in a way and with a depth that I had never experienced before. He was the first to teach me how to care so deeply for him and for other people’s children. There is a type of empathy and kinship that one develops with other parents—even ones we don’t know, strangers—when one knows what it is like to love someone so deeply.

Our boy continues to make us proud with the person he is becoming, his kindness, passion, compassion, and joie de vivre. He is an excellent big brother. (Most days, though, I can do without him practicing his debate skills on me.)

I have been that mom who has cheered him at athletic events, read his essays and cried, held him to a high standard, cooked for him and his friends, and driven him across states to maintain his friendships. I am the mom who reminds him that his ancestors are proud of him. They keep an eye on him, and he needs to keep making them proud. I am also the mom who recently told him how he was attempting to kill me with the idea of wanting to take a gap year. It may work for other kids, but it was not for us. Others may do as they want, but knowing my child, it was not in his best interest.

I had brought that child along too far, sacrificed too much to hear nonsense coming out of his mouth. As an immigrant mom balancing raising a child, a brown boy, in a culture different from the one in which I grew up, I embraced and adapted a lot and, at times, went well beyond my comfort zone, but GAP YEAR??, I could not stomach THAT. The boy’s first mistake was coming to me as his Haitian mom with letters behind my name and more years educating other people’s children than he’s been alive, and trying to convince me of a plan that felt like it was bringing me back to pre-1804 Haiti. He should have known that it was dead on arrival! All’s well that ends well. The boy is heading to college.

Perfection is never my goal when raising our boy. Whether it is in my parenting approach, leading, or even being a student myself, hard work and excellence supersede all. As a parent, I have always taught our kids to do their best and take pride in their effort and work because they reflect their character. I taught them early on to resolve their own conflicts, to collaborate and compromise, because having me resolve their conflicts would not end well for either of them. As toddlers, they would tell other children to collaborate and compromise rather than cry or fight when they had friends over for play dates.

From me, they got the perfect blend of a Haitian-American mom. I also taught our children to be efficient early on, fair, and to center the most disadvantaged. My husband and I balance our parenting approaches. Our children have been fortunate to have two parents who value difference and who love them fiercely. Our kids continue to teach me about self-care and taking time out for fun.

No job has scared me as much as being a mother has, even though I feel confident that I have done a great job. As the boy ventures into the real world on his own, I feel confident that we have prepared him well, but our responsibility as parents doesn’t end with him going to college. I look forward to experiencing the college journey with him and to being a sounding board for him through the course of his life.