Pomp, circumstance and a little something to be proud of

The sun shined so brightly on the folding chairs symmetrically distributed about the 50-yard line of Red Rider Stadium that the young women in their white gowns “glistened” with polite perspiration. Those of us in red gowns melted like Popsicles on a pancake griddle.

With bottled water still a statement of snobbery rather than an antidote for dehydration, I, along with my soon-to-be fellow alumni, suffered both the physical distress of dehydration and the mental trauma of having to hug our classmates and family members while dripping like a sodden dishcloth.

Although there was undoubtedly plenty of pomp and circumstance, I remember nothing of the event other than the heat — not a speech, not a song, not the ceremonial tossing of the mortarboards. I am certain I am not alone in my amnesia.

My grandson James graduated from preschool last weekend, and I’m here to tell you that while he may not remember it beyond the next few weeks, I will delight in the experience for the rest of my days.

James and his fellow honorees marched in through the sighs and awe of parents and grandparents to stand confidently at the front of a balloon-festooned room like tiny graduation cake-toppers. There were props and songs and adoringly mangled choreography. And although it was sometimes difficult to take in the entire scene because of the phalanx of smartphones bent on recording every subtle nuance of the event, it was a moment alive with joy.

Tears were shed here and there — some for joy and some in the melancholy realization that those years of warm snuggles, bedtime stories and slobbery smooches on the cheek really do go by in just a heartbeat.

My personal melt arrived toward the end of the ceremony as awards were handed out, one for each graduate. As his teacher explained it, “James was our helper who always, always, always reminded us to make sure we did not litter. Even on our walks, he would point out litter along the sidewalk, wag his head in shame and insist on picking it up to be disposed of properly. For that, James L. will receive our Conservation Award.”

Speaking to Miss Chelsea after the ceremony, I told her what a thrill that was for me because I work in conservation.

She replied, “Oh, we know. He talks about you all the time.”

Now that’s something a fellow will never forget. Congratulations, James. Papa and Gigi sure are proud of you!

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at jlorson@alonovus.com.