This weekend, my sister graduated from Notre Dame. It's hard to imagine that this little person that I grew up with (we're six years apart) donned a cap and gown and is now going out in the real world. To do what, we don't know yet. But she's officially out of school! (What's the saying?..."You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here").
What I find so interesting about graduations is the wave. We've all done it. I did it last week. In the mass of families and friends present at graduation, we, the graduates, struggle to find the people we know in the crowd. And the family is just as guilty. They are waving like crazy to their graduate, somehow thinking that, among the thousands of people in an arena, their baby is going to spot them. And how did we accomplish this goal before cell phones? This weekend, along with everyone else around me, I stood on a bleacher, cell phone glued to ear, talking to my sister on the floor.
"See Section 110? The bleachers above the purple seats? Go up three rows. See me waving? No? Ok, now I'm jumping up and down? See me? Ok, see the woman in the bright pink shirt? I'm just to the left of her. See me now?"
And then the magic moment, when we spot each other. That click, that somehow, we stand out to someone. That someone knows exactly where we are, can find us, and that makes us feel a little better. That we are not just a blob among a sea of strangers. Someone loves us. Someone cares. And someone is always watching out for us.
No comments:
Post a Comment