Most of my memorable moments as a parent have arrived unannounced.
With Rachel, it involved arriving early for her softball games, sitting alongside a dusty diamond and talking about nothing while seeing who could toss the most pebbles into an empty cup (Hey Rachel, I let you win).
With Maxwell, it was the St. Francis Ushers Pancake Breakfast. We would arrive hours early for twenty minutes of set-up, then walk around the building exploring and laughing about the horrible chow we were about to serve.
With Jackson, it was walking the paper route with our trusty and rusty wagon. We would invent nicknames for all of our customers and I would get a class by class rundown of the day’s school activities. I would always speculate about what my cut of the collection would be. Never got a dime.
Having gone through two high school cap and gown ceremonies with oldsters Rachel and Max, I was not anticipating a precious moment at young Jackson’s graduation from Allen Park High School. Did I mention that the event took place on a muggy Friday after a rough week at work? That it was at the ancient and cavernous Allen Park Civic Auditorium? That our seats were at the rear of the hall where people on the stage could only be seen on grainy big screens? That fresh air inside the auditorium was at a premium? That my wife made me wear long pants when all the other dads were showing off their skinny legs and knobby knees?
I have always found the cap and gown ceremony to be a pretentious exercise in tedium. A parade of tired speeches, out of tune singing and instrument playing and an endless roll call of unfamiliar names. And the payoff? Seeing your mile away kid walk across a stage to accept a piece of paper (not even the actual diploma).
I fought sleep waiting for the program to begin. In my haze, I heard Max ask, “What’s wrong with Daddy?” I put on my big boy Daddy pants. “Nothing, just a little tired,” I replied, straightening up in my seat.
Finally the band struck up the entrance march (not easy to differentiate from the warming up). We stood to watch the students march in. They flew down the aisle two by two, a blur of bouncing hair and smiling faces. I caught sight of Jackson. He was beaming, long hair curling out from under his cap, face ringed with an orange tinted scruffy beard.
This ten second burst of energy was followed by ninety minutes of sweaty hell. There were monotone speeches from various Allen Park dignitaries (“Please welcome the Parks and Recreation Supervisor to tell you why a proud graduate never litters”). There was the whitest chorus of all time, using their best American idol voices on a sappy tune.
And finally, the roll call of graduates. Rachel tortured me during this endless procession by pointing out the current graduate’s name in the program and Jack’s faraway name. Glacial.
Finally, the roll hit the M’s. We inched forward in a ridiculous effort to reduce the chasm between our seats and the stage. I caught sight of my man entering from stage right. He was impressive in size and stature, a brilliant smile dominating his face.
“Jackson Patrick Morrison.” A beautiful Irish name for a beautiful Irish lad.
We saluted Jack with a synchronized shout of “Louie”, an homage to his night time buddy and alter ego. Jack claimed he did not hear us, but it does not matter. Louie was properly recognized.
Finally, the program came to a conclusion and the proud graduates flew down the aisle and into the real world.
The lawn of the Civic Center was a madhouse. The Class of 2014 mingled with parents, family, friends and teachers posing for informal photos or hugging and kissing.
It took a while to locate Jackson, but when we did, he was hanging with his crew. It is difficult for an old fart like me to understand, but Jack and his posse bonded over video games. They would hang at a friend’s house, play video games until the sun came up, eat tons of food and give each other shit. You could not, however, neatly define these guys by their love of Grand Theft Auto. They are tennis captains, hockey captains, workout warriors and talented students. A good bunch of guys.
I got a kick out of watching these big fellas hug and put their arms around each other without an ounce of self consciousness.
There was one glaring omission from the evenings proceedings, Grandma. The heat and the difficulty of getting around made taking my Mom to the auditorium seem like a bad idea. Before arriving, we had discussed stopping over unannounced after the ceremony to visit. But the evening had gone long and we considered a visit the following day instead.
Jack would not hear of it. Andrea, Ray and Max echoed his sentiments. I figured that even though the hour was late, there was a decent chance my Mom would be awake watching her beloved Tigers.
Let’s go.
But first, Jack had to go back inside, get his actual diploma and go back to his buddy’s house to pick up the car.
The four remaining adults decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to stop in at The Sports Haven bar for a quick beer. After all, the pub is close to my Mom’s, we had time to kill and we were hot and thirsty. Don’t judge.
Jack went his way and we went ours, arriving at the equally muggy Sports Haven in Dearborn. We ordered tall summer shandys all around and commandeered a table at the rear of the bar. We drank, laughed and talked about the ceremony. Somewhere in there, Max complained about the heat. Finally it dawned on us to call Jack and tell him to meet us at the bar, so that we could arrive at Grandma’s together.
A couple of minutes later, Jack called to tell us he was on his way. A couple of gulps later, I went out in the parking lot to greet him and walk him into the Haven. I saw him approach, directed him toward a vacant spot and watched as he got out of the car, resplendent in his green gown. The kid stopped, wrestling to get his cap atop his flowing locks. He was going to make an entrance.
I walked in first, followed by my boy. The sodden faces at the bar turned to face us and a rousing round of applause welcomed Jackson to the pub. Jack sat with us at the rear of the bar while we saluted him with the last of our shandys.
Before we could finish, the waitress stopped by and told us that Jack would have to leave, as it was after nine and he was underage. My boy graduates high school and an hour later gets the boot from a bar for the first time, and we are there to witness both. I get misty thinking about it.
Two minutes later, our merry caravan arrived at my Mom’s. I had my key out, ready to make a surprise entrance at the side door. Locked from the inside. We would have to call and possibly wake younger brother Tony and wife Beth. I knew from previous Facebook postings that the two had indulged in some driveway drinking that night.
After a couple of short rings, a surprised, but happy Beth answered the phone and announced that she would be right down to let us in. Tony and Beth may have been sleeping, they surely had been drinking, but they were delighted to greet us, camera at the ready.
The real prize came when my Mom walked in, wrapped in her comfy robe, her voice cracking with pleasure at seeing the graduate. Jack tightly hugged his Grandma, towering over her, holding on a long time. There were seven of us cramped in that muggy kitchen. It made me think of a chaotic scene in the rear of Holy Cross Hungarian Church some thirty-three years earlier when Andrea took pity on me and agreed to be my wife. Chaos can be fun.
As they have done ever since Jackson was a little boy, my Mom and he said good-bye by touching index fingers so my Mom could “steal” some youthful energy from Jack. It’s not stealing if the young man with the youthful energy wants you to have it.
The evening wound down with a late dinner at Applebee’s. I was wedged in a
booth between Ray and Andrea, looking across the table at Max and Jack. I thought about the evening and the scene that had unfolded in the kitchen, thankful for the love of family and memorable moments that sneak up without warning.
Cheers! Jim
