For whatever odd reason, as a kid I had the iconic
graduation ballad, Pomp and Circumstance, on an old 45 record. When my
cousin/next-door-neighbor and dearest friend would come over to play, we would
sometimes play that scratchy vinyl disc in my room and would cry great tears of
sorrow because we thought it such a mournfully sad song. OK, we were a couple of little suburban
saps, but kids are funny that way.
Sometimes a girl just needs a good cry.
Yesterday my third-born, John Cody, walked across that great
expanse of platform in the state-of-the-art campus chapel, and had placed into
his hand an outrageously expensive piece of paper saying he is now an adult,
fully capable of gainful employment.
At least I hope that’s what it says.
The ceremony began with an unexpected hiccup. As the faculty paraded down the aisles
with their hoods and stripes and hexagon-shaped hats, Pomp and Circumstance
blared majestically from an obscenely expensive pipe organ, the pride of the
university. The robed participants
melded from faculty to graduating students and all was flowing nicely until
suddenly and without warning, the music came to an abrupt stop
mid-measure. The line of entering
graduates screeched to a stumbling stop in domino fashion, like a multicar
collision on an icy freeway. For
what seemed an eternity, the packed room of thousands was completely silent and
every confused face swiveled to stare at the stubborn, mute organ.
Then as if cued, the robed faculty swarmed around the silent
instrument trying to resuscitate it en mass. Makes sense, I guess.
They are doctors, after all.
After long moments the graduating class improvised and began to hum the
song hoping to speed along the process.
And suddenly… we were back in business! Apparently, some poor soul had caught
the cord with their foot and unplugged the darn thing. At least, that’s what the operating
rumor was. The majestic instrument
once again bellowed its grand song and the procession ended without further
incident.
I won’t bore you with a blow by blow of a ceremony that was duplicated
on campuses all across the country, for they all follow the same script and
most are largely forgettable. But
I did grab a nugget in the midst of the lengthy proceedings that was quite
poignant. The guest speaker, one
Gustavo Crocker, a man with more letters behind his name than a bowl of
alphabet soup, relayed this simple truth.
He admonished the fresh faces filling the front rows, “You have simply
completed this part of your education in the long journey of learning.” I love that. The teacher in me wanted to shout, “Yes, exactly
right!!” Graduates would soon shake
the hand of the university president, heave a sigh of relief, and never look
back. Phew, my days of education are
over!
Wrong.
They are just beginning.
Book learnin’ is a great start, but it is only a tiny step
toward real wisdom. Their wealth
of knowledge will be accumulated through on-the-job training, marriage,
parenting, career changes, friendships, sorrows and joys. Many of those relieved, grinning.
graduated young adults of yesterday will fill their aging cars with scant
belongings and drive away to find unexpected turns in their journey to the
American dream – situations they would have never predicted for
themselves. They will enter the
arena those of us further down the road have already been baptized in and know
await the uninitiated.
It is bittersweet, this thing called Life. Some will find fabulously successful
careers. They will be the ones
that are nominated for alumnus of the year and will be asked to give large
amounts of money to their alma mater.
Others will decide a simpler life is more to their choosing and their
lives will be no less happy or rewarding.
We don’t always get to choose how things go; illness and infertility and
saying goodbye forever to loved ones will await some. But no one gets only happiness or heartache. All will experience both at various
times. It is the warp and woof of
the fabric of Experience. It isn’t
good or bad. It is just how it
is. It is the pragmatist in me.
And Cody, computer science major and freshly graduated
career initiate, will find himself in some or all of the aforementioned
categories. His story is yet to be
written. I am happy for my son, of
course I am. He worked hard and
did not necessarily love his studies all of the time, but persevered
nonetheless and won the prize of earned degree. He must now seek employment. Classes and final exams are over. Now the weight of responsible adult is upon his
shoulders. We will be there to
help however we can, but we must stand back now and let him find his own
way. If he stumbles a little, that
is part of the journey too. We
have been here twice before. We as
parents are learning too.
Cody will be fine, I believe. College has been good for him. He relies little on his parents for much of anything. A little financial advice now and then
or mechanical questions about his car, but otherwise our conversations are
mostly of the catching-up variety.
I look at him now and see the mental scrapbook of his past
twenty-years. Cody has always been
the family comedian. He is funny
without even trying. He began
doing impersonations as a preschooler.
He has always had the knack for memorizing movies in their entirety. It’s more of a superpower, really.
He took his place as the third child and the third son in
our growing family. His brothers
found common ground in this strange new creature that invaded their cloistered lives. They quickly and mutually decided he
was a fun addition to their adventures and always included him in whatever they
were doing. Forts in the Vermont
woods, elaborate road building on the beaches of Lake Elmore, or a room
littered with Legos required all three Dahl boys for success. Trevor was the left-brained logistics
guy, Ryan was needed for competitive bidding (he always felt he had a better
plan than his older brother), and Cody was for laughs. Cody did very little of the work, he
just made things more fun.
Like siblings everywhere, my sons could also annoy one
another in impressive fashion. I
would sometimes wonder if they would ever grow up to be friends. Just as quickly I would hear childish
voices laughing boisterously. Nothing
warms a mother’s heart like hearing the evidences of siblings enjoying each
other’s company. They used to
spend the waning hours of summer nights on the trampoline, not as a form of
exercise necessarily, but just a place to sip the last dregs of a summer’s day. With the windows open, I could hear
soft voices talking about everything and nothing, long after the last vestiges
of daylight fell into the horizon.
I am the most content in those moments.
Do you ever wonder how life would be different if one or
another of your children had not joined your family? There is always a tiny taste of that when one or another was
away for a night or a week of summer camp. The feel and dynamic of the family is just different. Odd. Not right.
I know that our family has been richer because of Cody. He was loved from our first knowing of
new life growing within me. He was
wrapped in the strong arms of his happy daddy in the first moments after
birth. He was welcomed by
satisfied older brothers happy to have a comrade and relieved the new addition
wasn’t a dreaded GIRL (they would later discover girls were OK too). He is as necessary to our family as
rain is to growing crops. We need
him for a variety of reasons, but mostly because he breathes happiness into a
room by the simple act of entering it.
I know the next weeks and months may try his mettle. He is just beginning his degree in
Reality. But he is smart, capable,
funny, and most importantly, is not afraid to face uncertainty with the spirit
of adventure, like any true frontiersman.
I end with this story, shared during the Baccalaureate
service. The heir to the Borden
fortune, William Borden, had all the promise of any wealthy, well-bred,
well-educated young man in the early 1900’s. He renounced his fortune to pursue a life of missionary service
in China. On his way to the
mission field, he contracted meningitis while in Egypt and ultimately died
there at the age of twenty-five, alone and on foreign soil. Later his parents received his personal
effects and among them, his Bible.
In the flyleaf were these words written in his own hand, “No reserve, no
retreat, no regrets.”
I wish my youngest son well. I hope he will use his gifts and talents to bring a bit of
sunshine to a world in desperate need of joy. I believe Cody’s universe will most certainly be better
because he is in it. I believe he
will ultimately find his purpose and own avenues of service.
Be happy, my son.
You have great written all over you.
No Reserve, No Retreat, No Regret…
