Sunday, May 25, 2014

Pomp and Circumstance

The music is playing and then it hits you. This is it. And you  try and pick out your son among the thousands of blue caps and gowns. And then you see him and your eyes follow  before he melts into the crowd. And the speeches begin. It has been a long day already with relatives and a week long preparation. Still there is no reality to it. Another ritual of raising children

And you listen the Valevictorian give her speech. You listen to the principal. And then you arent listening because you are trying to get a grip on this passage of life. There is something ending here but you arent sure what. Maybe it began when fathers and sons suddenly quit hugging. Something about getting too big to hug. Or maybe when baseball ended and you had nothing to do together anymore.

But really you are just trying to find him again because it grips you then. This is ending too. This is the end of raising your first child and you look and look and look. And then a white face turns around and it is your son. And he is looking for you one last time. Like he looked for you that first day of kindergarten or first grade.

And for a moment you are that parent and he is that child again. And you open your mouth to shout but he has turned back around. a tear shed much too early.

Books by William Hazelgrove