You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.
Graduation Day.
My oldest graduated from the University of Alabama Saturday.
Roll Tide.
We are driving toward campus.
It’s stop and go traffic.
I see a traffic control officer, so I roll down my window.
“Hi. is this for graduation?”
She nods yes, waving me forward like a robot.
“Is there parking ahead?”
“I don’t know,” she says blankly, without enthusiasm.
We zig. We zag. We fight briefly for a spot.
I finally ditch the car 3 blocks away.
I look at my watch. We’re doing great.
We get to the main boulevard. I notice groups of families, dressed like they are going to church, all crossing the street.
An officer with a shrill whistle pierces the air.
He waves us forward.
We are walking across Paul W. Bryant Drive. It’s 8:45 am on a Saturday and every step brings me closer to a life threshold about to be crossed.
The sky is blue and endless. The air is warm, and unusually dry for the deep south.
Traffic stops and allows a hundred of us to cross.
We are a mix of suits and ties and sun dresses and high heels.
The talk is of family and accomplishment.
As we cross the boulevard, I feel a sense of excitement.
I am about to embark on a journey that every father dreams of; the graduation of a child.
Ahead of me is Coleman Coliseum. It is a modern sports pavilion surrounded by red brick and manicured lawns.
Tuscaloosa is a dirty armpit of a city. It’s ugly like a hairy mole on a dumpster diver. But in the middle of this Alabama city, there is a shining center of higher education.
It is a focal point for passion and respect and erudite leaders of tomorrow. The grass is green and the bricks red and bright. There is a feeling of optimism and historical sense of being.
There are two flag poles out front. One side the American Flag flies. On the other side, the University of Alabama flag.
There is a sense of balance, of symmetry to the building, to the day.
The wind is easy and calm, and the flags barely flap.
As we move down the sidewalk with other parents and families, I hear conversations.
“Whose the commencement speaker?”
“Where do we eat after?”
“Parking is crazy.”
The grass is green, the trees perfect, the day a post card.
There is a feeling of enthusiasm. It’s like game day only no one will be yelling Roll Tide after every 1st down.
I look back at the campus. It is dressed up for the big day. It is sporting a Crimson and White smile that welcomes families to this momentous occasion.
As I approach the stairs, I wonder what my son is thinking. Is he nervous about leaving the world he has called home for the last four years? Or is he excited about moving on to the next phase of his life? Is he anxious to find a job, a career, a profession? Is he psyched that the studying is over, and he can breathe a sigh of relief and relax for a moment?
What will he do? How will he do it? Where will he do it?
We enter the arena. Athletic banners hang from the ceiling. There is a video screen in the middle of the floor. The camera is zooming in on couples who wave or smooch like they are on kiss cam.
All the good seats are taken up front, so we head for the rafters.
We take our seats and open the graduation announcement and find my son’s name. He is one of only 6 students graduating with a B.S. in Geology.
I am excited. Less graduates means the work force is not flooded with candidates competing for jobs.
Oil exploration is a key to energy. Every building needs a geological survey. The possibility for employment is good.
I see the students walk in. They are dressed in black gowns and mortar boards.
My eyes are bad and I struggle to find my boy. The kids walk in single file. Each student is scanning the stands for their loved ones.
One after another, the students file in. It’s like an educational Noah’s ark filling up the seats in the middle of the arena.
And then we spot him. He is gazing up, looking, hoping to spot us.
We scream his name and he makes eye contact. He waves and we wave back.
I can see the joy on his face. He is proud and excited.
I feel a surge of emotion as my eyes moisten.
The ceremony begins and it is strangely lack luster. It is an announcement from the University President. It is a standing ovation for those vets who have served.
But it is rather pedestrian.
There is no commencement speaker. There is no positive message of hope for the future. This is a world-class university. I would expect a well-known name to be at the lectern pumping up the crowd and the graduates with visions of future successes.
Instead it is mundane and procedural.
It has all the pageantry of the DMV.
The commencement begins with the names of the graduates read in alphabetical order.
The students begin walking across the stage, shaking the University President’s hand to a cluster of high-pitched cheers in the stands.
I listen to the names. Some as simple as Arnold and Armstrong. Some much more difficult to pronounce.
Monosyllabic names from foreign countries fill the loud speakers over head.
The man reading each graduate’s name has wonderful diction and perfect resonance. His words are like musical eloquence floating across the arena.
It is exciting at first. We feel like something amazing is happening, and it is.
But as name after name after name is read, it becomes something else, something less stellar, something ordinary.
After 10 minutes of name after name after name it soon becomes static white noise. Row after Row of A’s move into position.
Alvin and Anderson and Agee.
It is an endless array of alliteration and smattering of applause.
One by one, slowly the students inch forward like graduating ants, moving up the stairs and across the stage.
Then the B’s.
So many B’s.
Browns and Bernsteins and Barimores.
It goes on for 15 minutes, the wave of students with last names ending in B.
The man at the microphone is still going strong. He has read hundreds of names and he has done it with precision and zest.
His voice is soothing and professional.
“Do you think he’s a radio DJ?” someone asks.
But the procession of name after name commences in a monotonous assembly line of formality.
It is so mechanical, without passion, I feel like I could fall asleep.
Each parent, each loved one is appreciative, but it is hard to stay focused.
The voice drones on and on.
Conversations abound in the stands all around us.
The interest level waning as the discussions grow louder and farther from the amazing moment before us.
Suddenly, my son’s row stands.
I become focused, ready, exhilaration begins pumping through my blood.
I feel excitement building as he looks up to us with a smile.
Suddenly it’s clear why we are here. For him. This is the moment.
He is 50 yards away and his features somewhat blurred, but I can tell he is excited, percolating with pride.
Four years of hard work, are about to culminate with him accepting his diploma and walking across that stage.
What a moment. It’s a seminal moment, a transitional moment, an indelible moment.
The kid has become a man. The student is now a graduate.
This day has taken a tremendous amount of dedication and desire to achieve.
He has labored for countless hours, getting up early, going to class, hitting the books and going for extra help to pass trigonometry and calculus.
I watch as he hands his card to the people at the stairs.
I watch as he climbs the stairs.
I listen as his name is called.
The man with the golden pipes mispronounces his name as has been the case all my life.
I am disappointed that this happened, but I am not surprised.
I watch as he marches across the stage.
He hugs the president and he smiles broadly.
“Roll Tide,” he will later tell me that he whispers in the president’s ear.
I look up to the video board and I see him parading across the stage.
The C’s continue, the D’s follow.
It goes on and on.
Finally X, Y, and Z.
Then it ends, some two hours later.
The graduates begin to leave the auditorium.
I run down to the floor and pull out my phone.
I shout out to my boy who smiles broadly.
He is excited, relieved and ready for the future.
The ceremony is boring as white paint, but the texture of this moment a swirling kaleidoscope of possibilities and richness.
I couldn’t be prouder of my new graduate.
Life’s Crazy™