This weekend is high school graduation in my town. Two schools releasing yet another crop of bright-eyed teenagers full of dreams; eager to be freed from their perceived prison of childhood. Our downtown restaurants and sidewalks are full of proud parents and relatives celebrating their offsprings' accomplishments. It's a scene that get played over and over again as the hands of time continue around the clock of life.
My son graduated many moons ago so I was a bit startled to find myself in the middle of the graduation again. This time it's for friends' kids. As I watched the timeless scene unfolding, as I listened to the names being read over a booming loudspeaker, I didn't expect to take a walk down memory lane.
My mind wandered back to my son's graduation. I remember how proud, excited and relieved I was. My mind wandered even further back and I realized those were the same emotions I felt at my own high school graduation. I thought of the family members who gathered to celebrate. I thought of the respective plans and dreams I had, my son had. Each of us unique yet members of a shared experience that is repeated thousands of times by graduates and their families.
These are the rituals that mark a family yet are expressions of the larger culture in which I live.
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