My kids have been in school for more than 19 years between the two of them. I’m used to the rhythm of school, although it’s been a while since I’ve dealt with it so directly. Spring, in so much of life a time of new beginnings, is for the student a time of endings. It marks the end of the school year and, at some points, the end of your time in a particular school; some years, you’re leaving elementary school for junior high – probably the single scariest change – or junior high for high school. When you’re a bit older, you’re leaving high school for college – probably the most exciting change – or college for the real world.

But this time, as my kids end the school year, for one of them and for me things are vastly different. My firstborn is graduating from pharmacy school at NDSU. He and his wife have some big decisions to make about how they plan to live. It’s exciting for them, but I well remember the fear of venturing out into the Real World after so many years of preparation.

My younger son is having the most conventional experience of three of us; he’s about halfway through pre-med (and just had his second consecutive 4.0 semester, said the proud papa), but he’s got a lot of school yet ahead of him. It’s been a real thrill to see him do so well. Both my kids always had great grades, but it came relatively easy for my older son and my younger son had to work for everything he got.

I’m definitely having the weirdest experience, having returned to school after three decades. I’m also having a weird experience from a sort of logistical standpoint. All of my classmates in the first semester of the master’s program are done with their work as this is written (Monday), but I’m not because of the time I lost due to my mother’s death. My professors have been more than gracious; all gave me extensions on my papers. I’ve only gotten one finished so far, but will have the other two done by the end of the month – which is good, because I start summer classes June 6.

But I also have to start sweating about grades, which is something I’m not really used to. I graduated with a 3.29 from college, good enough for honors. That actually beat my goal, which was to graduate with a 3.0. Granted, my grades got progressively worse over the four years, but I did well enough at the start that I could afford to screw up an assignment or two as classes got harder. I was pretty proud of myself.

But the stakes are higher now. This is, in all probability, my last shot at a good career. If I screw this up, life is going to get rather dicey; I could be the best-educated burger flipper in the world. There are more immediate concerns as well. I have to maintain a minimum 3.25 GPA to keep my teaching assistant’s job (although they sort of give you a break on that your first semester). And they waive tuition for TAs.

The one paper that I have finished was a bit of an ordeal. The prof was good, but she was a bit, well, unfocused. She kept suggesting new sources or areas of research virtually up until the last day of the semester. The three of us in the class ended up sort of winging it. I kind of bombed the paper on technical reasons; I lost a lot of points for using the wrong style on the paper (there’s four you can use and I never heard her specify which one she wanted). But despite that, I managed to pull a B in the class. I’ll get at least Bs in the other two classes, and maybe even an A or two, so I’ve dodged the grade bullet for at least this semester.

But Lord, when you hit middle age you don’t expect to be sweating out grades, of all things. Sure, that beats all hell out of having to worry about providing for your family or saving for your retirement. But if you take school as seriously as you should, and as seriously as I have to, there’s something a little odd about brooding over the same thing that gives people half your age the fits.

Fortunately, my girlfriend has kept me very grounded. Had I not had her, the last few days of waiting for that history grade would have put me into a state of extreme brooding. I would’ve sat alone in my efficiency apartment, trying to judge which fast-food place presented the best career option. She quite sensibly suggested – repeatedly – that I stop brooding and just deal with whatever happened. When the grade was posted, she was the second-most-thrilled person in the room.

Still, despite the stress, it’s kind of fun to be in a similar place to my kids. When we talk about school now, it’s with the sort of unspoken soldier-in-a-trench camaraderie that all students have. And believe me, I’m a bit humbled to compare the kinds of courses we take. My kids have to take busloads of hard sciences; there’s a definite social science component to my coursework, but there’s precious little of the kind of base technical knowledge they have to have. I hear about their coursework and every muscle I have clenches.

But they’re doing well and that’s gratifying for me, not that I take any credit. You always want to see your kids do better than you and I think mine are – and will.

The best thing is, with both a pharmacist and a doctor in the family, I flat don’t have to worry about who will take care of me in my dotage. One of them already promised to buy me the absolute best grade of cat food.