Commencement

Grandson Ian, Class of '04

Yesterday, a new physical therapist introduced herself to me by saying that I didn't need any introduction because long, long ago I'd been her grade school graduation speaker. She even remembered some things. "You were saying something about nachos," she told me. I honestly can't imagine what that must have been, but she remembered. Not the moral lesson--just the nachos. No matter, I was honored. Sort of. 

Truth is, I've been a graduation speaker at more events than I could list--maybe ten grade school grads (including my daughter's and my granddaughter's), three or four high schools (my poor daughter's), even a college commencement speaker. That's a lot of nachos. What I'm saying is, I know how tough a job it is or was. That the physical therapist remembered a line from her grade school grad speaker is a wonder because  I don't remember a thing about any of them because, honestly, the evening belongs to the grads. 

Last night it did. We attended our last grandson's grade school graduation at a huge church in Sioux Center, Iowa, and it was just plain grand. No speaker. None. No one specially chosen to deliver wisdom to the grads. Just them. It was wonderful.

First, videos--each of the 70 kids featured, then an intro from the "head of school," then prayer and a praise band (actual singable music). A few warm-hearted reminiscences from teachers ("How can we forget COVID!!" from Mrs. Vander Kooi, fourth grade), the long processional for diplomas, a marvelous duet from two teachers--and Casey's chocolate chip cookies afterwards. 

The evening featured the students, put them out front, gave them the laurels, even by way of the evening's liturgy. No outside speaker, no valedictory, just bunches of students contributing. I couldn't help thinking that authority gave way to community. It was warm, personal, greatly student-centered, a sweet departure from the old way. 

 This proud grandpa says it was a grand evening.