There are moments as a parent when you find yourself rehearsing the speech you hope you never have to give. The one where you tell your child that their time will come, and that when it does, all the near misses and disappointments will fade into something much smaller. You hold it in your back pocket, ready, because you know how much they wanted it.
You just don't expect to never need to give the speech at all.
Katherine wrapped up Year 6 of Primary School this week, and the graduation ceremony was every bit as beautifully bittersweet as these occasions should be. The school had clearly put thought into every detail, right down to the perfectly chosen tear jerker songs as the kids walked in and out of the hall. Parents around me were already losing the battle before the first award was even read out.
During the ceremony, Katherine received a commendation for the Sam Lewis Peace Prize. She had really hoped to win it. We knew she had been hoping for it. And so, as the name of the recipient was called and it was not hers, I watched her absorb another one of those moments that ask a twelve year old to keep building resilience. That is a lot to ask of someone so young, and it has not always come easily.
This is the part of parenting that nobody really prepares you for. You are already so proud of the small wins along the way, the second and third places, the commendations that pile up on the bookshelf at home. But your child wants their moment. They want to walk up to that stage and be the one whose name is read out, not the one quietly clapping for someone else.
I had genuinely been preparing myself for the drive home. I knew the words. One day your time will come, and when it does, all the moments you missed out on will no longer seem so important. I wanted to mean it, and I wanted her to believe me.
Then the whole school Creative and Performing Arts Award for 2025 was announced.
For anyone outside the school community, this is the major arts award of the year. The big one. I vividly remember messaging a friend, Christine, last year after her daughter won the 2024 award, thinking at the time that this was exactly the sort of recognition Katherine would one day be chasing. It felt like a long way off. It felt like the kind of thing you quietly hoped for but did not dare expect.
And then Katherine's name was called.
The room moved in slow motion. There was a beat where I had to check that I had heard correctly. Jenifer and I looked at each other, and then back at our daughter, who was making her way up to the front with that look that kids get when something they had quietly wished for has actually happened. Pure surprise. Overwhelming joy. The kind of family moment you do not forget.
It felt like it took me until later that night to stop shaking.
The next morning, I sat down and wrote to the school. I wanted to thank them properly. I wanted them to know that Renae, Lauren, Jarryd and the rest of the staff had done more than guide my daughter through Year 6. They had stepped in during moments when I felt completely powerless to help her, and I will never forget that.
I also wanted to acknowledge what we had watched from our seats in the hall. The way the staff presented with such care. The way they spoke. The way they allowed their own emotions to show throughout the ceremony. You do not cry over something unless you love it deeply, and it was so evident that these teachers love our children deeply. That kind of care does not show up on a report card, but it shapes everything.
For Katherine, this award is a legacy to leave behind. Seven years of school, finishing on a note that none of us saw coming. The near misses, the resilience, the quiet hope that one day it would be her turn. All of it culminating in a moment that finally let her exhale.
And for me, watching her up there, I realised the speech I had been rehearsing in my head was about to become obsolete. Not because the message was wrong, but because she had just lived it. She did not need me to tell her that her time would come. She got to find out for herself.
What a moment. What a day. What a legacy.
High school is next, and I have a feeling the next female Doig is going to take it in her stride. She is fearless. She does not back down. And after watching her this week, I have absolutely no doubt that whatever she chases next, she has already proven to herself that she can get there.
