By: Jennifer Iannolo

As the youngest of seven children, I have a perpetual eagerness for my nieces and nephews to grow up so I have more people to talk to. My siblings are now sporting reading glasses and belong to AARP, so I have a bit of a disconnect there.

This week, my nephew and godson, a.k.a. Rent­A­Kid #4, is graduating from high school. There are so many thoughts swirling through my head, and I’m trying to keep them quiet as I process this crossroads at which we’ve arrived. Things like “We did it!” and “Oh god, did I do it right? Did I leave any permanent scars on his psyche? Does he know I’m really cool?”

I had so many hopes when he was a baby. Could I encourage him to live a big life, or at least one that was big to him? Could I set a good example? Could I prevent filling him with the anxiety of my expectations?

His parents and I have gone through many beautiful moments together along this road, and they’ve included me in all of it, from managing school choices to football games and college questions. They never needed me to check in with him about things he wouldn’t discuss, because he talked to them about everything. So where did that leave me?

I’m incredibly grateful to say it gave me all the room in the world to be a mentor. An encourager. A cultivator of dreams and fairy godmother. We got—and get—to talk about the good stuff.

When his high school football career was almost ended by a knee problem, we started talking about alternatives for his future. When the surgeon for the New York Giants worked on that knee, we started talking about physical rehab and New York State championships. When it was time for him to play in that championship game last fall, we started talking about leadership, and took a family road trip to Syracuse and the Carrier Dome.

There, I watched from the stands as this giant hulk of a young man paced up and down the sidelines, commanding his team to rise, to get their heads in the game. Believe me when I tell you, this is not the size of human being you want yelling in your face, even if you’re wearing pads. I watched as they lost the game with grace and dignity.

I watched as college scouts made him offers to play football, and I watched him turn them down.

He wanted different things—like being able to walk later in life instead of having a crippled knee and an equally crippling debt of student loans. I watched him make the brave choice to go to junior college instead, and sort out what he really wanted to pursue, before choosing his four­year school.

Who was this person making such grownup decisions all by himself?

But the pivotal moments of his journey to manhood appeared in two very significant interactions that I’ll carry for the rest of my days. The first was when I couldn’t make it to his final home game as a senior. I was wracked with guilt, and he said, “Don’t worry, Aunt Jen. Even though I don’t say it, I’m watching everything you do. I know you are doing really important work, and you are an inspiration to me. You’ll be right there with me on the field.” That’s when he was 17.

When he turned 18, I had a mushy moment while thinking about the roller coaster of health I’ve been on the past few years. Upon reflection, I was reminded that when things were darkest, it was the thought of not disappointing him that pulled me through, the desire to set a good example and find an optimistic path to manage all of it. When I shared that with him, his first reaction was, “Are you OK? What’s the matter?”

This little boy I had looked out for, for so long, was now a man looking out for me.

I know that mothers get to have a special bond with their children, and I don’t begrudge them that. They earn every penny in that love bank. But I...oh, I get to have this. Without the labor pains, and dirty diapers, and piles of laundry, I still get to have this.

And we’re just completing Phase One! I told him to get his passport, because there’s a big world out there, and I’m intent on him seeing it with Aunt Jen.

So where some might look at the upcoming generation and worry about where we’re headed, or others might be filled with a sense of hopelessness, I see something very different. I see Nicholas Serafino Iannolo. And I’m not worried about a thing.

Jennifer Iannolo is the founder of The Concordia Project™, created to foster a new global conversation about empowerment and collaboration. She is also the auntie to 18 delicious Rent-A-Kids. Jennifer is the co-creator of The Gilded Fork® and Culinary Media Network®, the world’s first all-food podcast channel.

Photo: Jennifer Iannolo
Published: June 23, 2015