Thirteen years ago,”Pomp and Circumstance” played as my son wore a red cap and gown to accept his diploma.

Because his class was extremely small, the formal ceremony was short. As the post-graduation celebration began, my son led his friends in a unique rendition of the “Chicken Dance.”

Throughout the afternoon, there were several other moments when he grabbed, or attempted to grab, the limelight. At one point, his teacher pulled me aside and whispered “All the world is a stage for Shepherd. Just enjoy it.”

But I couldn’t.

The next 13 years, starting in kindergarten, weren’t easy.

I worried obsessively about my son.

Even though my son was very smart and very funny, I worried that he didn’t have the same interests as his peers.

I worried that he was awkward and uncoordinated and would never find the place where he belonged.

I worried that he often seemed oblivious to what others automatically understood.

I even worried that he didn’t care that I was worried.

But somewhere between kindergarten and twelfth grade, my son taught me more than algebra and English literature classes ever could.

He taught me that going out on a limb will always be more interesting than standing on the ground hugging the trunk.

He taught me that winning a dance contest doesn’t necessarily require the best moves. It simply requires the most guts.

He taught me that more people appreciate the sheep who wonders off to explore new pastures than the ones who stay with the herd.

And he taught me that grabbing a mic and singing in front of the entire student body can never be embarrassing if you get everyone to sing with you.

On Monday, I will listen to “Pomp and Circumstance” while my son wears a red cap and gown  to accept his diploma.

I wish I could guarantee he won’t lead his entire graduating class  in a rendition of  “The Chicken Dance,” but I can’t. Neither can I  guarantee he won’t pull off one final, ridiculous high school stunt.

But here’s what I can guarantee: I won’t be worried.

Because I know that my unique, gifted, funny, ridiculous, smart, sarcastic son already has plenty of experience in finding his way in the often rocky terrain of life.

I also know, that his preschool teacher wasn’t entirely right. All the world is not just a stage for my Shepherd. Instead, all the world is HIS stage.

And I can’t wait to see his upcoming performances.