The street I live on is lined with black and gold signs—the school colors of the nearby high school—displayed proudly in front of homes with graduating seniors.

Beyond graduation announcements, several signs highlight the next educational step:

Kids heading to DePaul, Northwestern, University of Illinois, and a handful of other Big Ten universities.

The most coveted names—Harvard, Yale, University of Chicago—pop up now and then.

It’s the season of pride—pride in someone else’s accomplishments: our children’s.

What you don’t see:

“College of DuPage Bound” signs.

Attending community college, while financially wise, doesn’t seem sign-worthy.

Facebook Feeds of Pride

Facebook is even more saturated with parental pride.

I don’t use it as much these days. Instead of seeing updates from my friends, I was seeing what their kids were doing—and they were all succeeding in the ways society measures success.

Of course, parents should be proud of their children.

But all this pride production comes at a steep cost.

Success Beyond the Signs

My kids are amazing—though neither of them went to Brown.

They’ve achieved things that largely go unnoticed.

High school wasn’t hard for my son.

But academic success was—thanks in large part to ADHD.

He could match the top students on tests, but couldn’t remember to bring home, do, return, or turn in assignments.

His behavior, not his intelligence, kept him from being recognized.

He’s a talented musician, too—drums at age three, later guitar and bass.

But his school had few opportunities for someone whose music fits better in a mosh pit than a music hall.

Following high school, he found a job where his inability to sit still was an advantage. He worked hard and was able to buy a house in his twenties. Not a condo—a drummer needs a basement, after all.

My Daughter: Persistence Grapples With Emotional Health

My daughter’s achievements are equally impressive.

She was driven from the start. I remember one day in grade school:

“I failed, Mom,” she said.

I was surprised—she never failed anything in school. I asked about her grade.

“I failed,” she repeated.

“It doesn’t matter! I failed!”

Then it dawned on me.

“Honey, did you fail—or did you fail to get the grade you wanted?” She nodded. I asked what grade she had received, expecting a B, maybe a C.

“I got an A,” she cried.

“What on earth grade did you want?” I practically shouted.

“I wanted an A+,” she wailed.“I failed, Mom,” she said, visibly upset.

But high school hit differently.

She took honors English and Social Studies. She was on the accelerated math track, and a cheerleader.

Her days were packed—practice, dinner, then homework until she fell asleep with her head on her book, then woke to finish at 2 a.m.

By sophomore year, she broke—physically and mentally.

School attendance became impossible. Then, everything but sleep became impossible.

Eventually, with an IEP and a transfer to virtual school, she graduated.

Despite dealing with anxiety disorder, OCD, and major depressive disorder, she persevered.

She’s been working since 16, is now 22, and already planning her retirement with a financial advisor.

What Gets Recognition?

I pass by my kids’ old high school every day on my way to work.

The sign out front rotates between celebrating the school’s state ranking and its students’ academic and athletic successes.

At the schools where I teach robotics and STEM, the cultural and economic realities are vastly different—but the emphasis on achievement is just as strong.

Test scores are posted on bulletin boards—but only the high ones.

Perfect attendance gets stars. A single sick day makes perfection impossible.

Rethinking What We Celebrate

Achievement is deeply personal, yet we’ve made it a universal, quantifiable metric:

• Get A’s
• Win awards
• Come in first
• Earn scholarships
• Get into “the best” college

But what if we celebrated something else?

I’m not talking about the “everyone is a winner” trophy—students know that’s a crock.

They know what gets real recognition.

It’s not that they aren’t achieving amazing things.

It’s that the amazing things they do aren’t the ones we put on signs.