That puppy she begged for is now 10 years old, grayer and stiffer, like her father and me. All the family trips, from camping at the Cape to Cape Town, South Africa. The batches of Christmas cookies baked with Granny. The wilted dandelions picked for Mother's Day and served with cold toast and watery orange juice. The basketball and soccer games where she positioned herself as far away from the ball as possible. Those years between were filled with photos of family and friends, some now gone, including three of her four grandparents. For the graduation party, her father and I had put together a slideshow of her life, starting with me hugely pregnant and ending with Megan's senior spring. Somehow, those four years passed like a video in fast-forward. (Life lesson seven: Keep Kleenex close at hand). At the time, I mourned for way too long, imagining our family as a now-gimpy dog whose leg had been amputated. We left the daughter happily ensconced in campus life, not worried much about her parents and brother left behind. Our destination was far away, much farther than the 753 miles that registered on the odometer.įour of us departed Milton, and only three of us returned. It was just last year, I could swear it was, that we had headed south from Milton in my mom-mobile, piled high with clothes, bedding, and expectations. The maintenance man said he'd be glad to have it. We loaded her car, but simply could not squeeze in the beanbag chair, the one we'd bought her the day she moved into the dorm as a freshman. We returned to her apartment to clean up the flotsam and jetsam of her college career - ramen noodle packages, half-filled liters of Coke, posters, TV, George Foreman grill, books, photos, lamps, and enough clothes to outfit the entire freshman class. I added, with a hug: "The Bank of Mom and Dad is hereby officially closed." (Life lesson six: Get a job). We were dry.Īt noon, we attended our daughter's departmental graduation - indoors - where she received her diploma. This time, it was the pancakes they forgot. The third place we went was the errant bakery that had forgotten our cake. The first place we went had a 45-minute wait. Graduation breakfast would be a nice consolation prize. The college had no Plan B: You could either sit there and get soaked, or leave. We took a few pictures, then the heavens opened up. Under threatening skies, we picked up Megan, radiant in her cap and gown, and drove to the football stadium. It was lovely, except for when my 88-year-old aunt, whose memory is just slightly worse than mine, kept asking friends who they were and what they were doing at a "private party." (Life lesson five: Hold on to your sense of humor). That night, my uncle and aunt gave a cocktail party at their retirement center - surely the only college graduation party ever held there. We declined it would have been more than the cake cost. But the restaurant wanted $2 a head to cut and plate the cake. We all schlepped to a nearby place, which was just fine. "I must have gotten the wrong day," my daughter said sheepishly. I grabbed the last lone, ready-made cake and headed for the restaurant. (Life lesson one: Don't sweat the small stuff). I arrived at the bakery with my invoice in hand, only to learn that, oops, the cake wasn't ready yet. She had made the reservation a month ago, and we had ordered the cake weeks earlier. The next day, aunts and uncles and cousins from out of town were meeting us for Megan's birthday lunch at her favorite restaurant. ![]() By the time all of this was straightened out and a $135 ticket was issued, we had missed her baccalaureate service. ![]() Surely we weren't being pulled over - at the airport.īecause of her recent birthday, Megan's license had expired, and she was driving on a temporary one. "Slow down, the speed limit's only 20," I said, just as the blue light appeared in the rearview mirror. When Megan picked us up at the airport, she missed the exit and was circling again with a rather heavy foot. We had made a plan - several, actually - for this weekend of crowning achievement. My daughter's recent college graduation reinforced a lesson we've tried to teach our kids throughout their childhoods: Make a plan, but be prepared to wing it.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |