Rites of passage

Eighteen years ago, I was sitting on a curb in the small California town of La Habra where I lived, watching an old-time parade pass by in honor of the local Corn Festival. There were decorated convertibles, school marching bands, and members of the Shriners club riding in funny little cars.

Along came a clown who tapped my extremely round abdomen and said, “I bet you’ll deliver that today!”

She was right. About an hour later, my waters broke and I was on my way to the hospital to deliver a ten-and-a-half pound baby boy. By Caesarian section, thank goodness, considering his size!

Yesterday, on a sunny afternoon a few miles from there, I sat in a football stadium at Cal State Fullerton with my husband, older son, mother and two wonderful mothers-in-law (my husband’s mother and stepmother) and watched that young man graduate from high school.

Here’s how, as a novelist, I might have expected one of my characters to react: with nostalgia, a longing for loved ones who didn’t live to see this day, and an intensified awareness of the cycles of life. Plus, of course, joy.

Well, I experienced all those emotions. And another I wouldn’t have expected: amusement.

Before the ceremony, I couldn’t help chuckling at the guy behind me on a cell phone, loudly struggling to guide a relative who showed up at the wrong campus (Fullerton College) and couldn’t seem to figure out which streets ran east-west so he could join us. Okay, I shouldn’t laugh at someone having an even worse sense of direction than I do, but I’ve never actually gone to the wrong campus for an event!

I was also amused by my older son’s observation that, since his brother had to buy his robes and mortarboard, we now have a Halloween costume lined up. My husband and I then had a playful argument about which of us will go as The Graduate and who gets to be Mrs. Robinson (I won. I think).

Later, watching the graduates arrayed in the school coldors of green and gold, I reflected that, when my older son went through this ritual, I was grateful not to be finished yet with the parenting years. Yesterday, though, I saw what a difference three years has made. Come fall, I’ll miss those boys when they go off to college, but I’m ready for that empty nest.

It occurred to me that not only the students were graduating; a lot of us parents and grandparents were graduating, too. For us, too, I see this as a commencement.

We’re moving on to the next stage. I look forward to seeing what the future will bring.