Was it 14 years ago that I sat in a festively decorated school auditorium and watched my four-year-old daughter “graduate” from pre-school? The Thornridge Preschool did not skimp on the pomp and circumstance. Our daughter, Sabrina, wore a tiny white satin gown and a matching white graduation hat. The teachers made dozens of pastel tissue paper flowers that covered the small stage. Our daughter was over-the-moon excited for the celebration. She had ordained that the post-graduation festivities would include McDonald’s Happy Meals for everyone. That night, her dad and I sat on metal folding chairs and watched our little daughter walk up the aisle then sing with her classmates. The whole thing was adorable. Most of the time, however, Sabrina was distracted, admiring the little boy named Riley standing next to her. Riley was the class clown, and whenever they sang, Riley would sing theatrically, throw his arms out to the side like Pavarotti. Sabrina thought he was hilari