It’s late spring when graduation celebrations abound. We’ve been to some special ones. A young woman, who was rescued as a teenager from a troubled background, shone at her recent graduation. A COVID graduation—held in a parking lot with chairs socially distanced—where the valedictorian said, “Serious times demand serious reflection. The faith that we had on March 13 is not sufficient for the world of June 12. We need an upgrade. From the pandemic to the murder of George Floyd, it is clear that we don’t control much … but we can show respect for people, take responsibility for our actions, and repair the world.” 

One of our sons graduated from Harvard. Before the auspicious event, I worried because a mouse, which had evidently wintered in our basement where I stored my summer clothes, had nibbled the hemline of the dress I planned to wear.  

Turned out the tattered hemline was the least of my problems. We got on a train at sunrise, since parking spots in Cambridge are hard to find. We stood in line for hours and secretly snickered at the Ph.D parents who hadn’t read the fine print on their tickets, only to find out that they had waited for three hours in the wrong line.  

Sitting inside Harvard Yard, we couldn’t see graduation proceedings but were among those fortunate to find chairs. At least we could hear the proceedings, but the first speech was entirely in Latin. Some people were laughing at the jokes.  

Then it poured. The speaker, who seemed to be transported on rays of intellectual sunshine (and was standing under a protective awning), reminded the crowd that it never rains at Harvard graduations.  

Rain poured off my neighbor’s umbrella drenching my lap. Finally, we went inside the nearest building, where I lost my husband. Security guards herded me, and a thousand other bedraggled parents, along a corridor. When the guards disappeared, I followed the crowd, assuming we were heading to the room where the graduation was being telecast.  

Alas, the throng was looking for restrooms. Not a bad idea, since it had been six hours since I had seen one—not that there had been anything to drink, unless I had stuck out my tongue in the pouring rain. Un-Harvard, to be sure.

I was about four hundredth in line for the women’s room when a dignified gentleman announced that there was no line for the men’s room. I glanced at the proper women around me. Not one of them darted for the men’s room. Probably none of them were wearing what remained after a mouse feast either.  

I marched to the men’s room. I put my soaked program over my downcast eyes, almost bumping into an elderly man. “Do I dare?” I lamented aloud.

“My dear, I think you must dare,” said the man, whose face I never saw but whose kind voice cheered me on my way to the stall.

I was afraid to come out of my stall because I heard men talking. When I shuffled to the sink, I realized that I could not wash my hands while holding my program over my eyes.  

At Harvard, I learned to use the men’s room and make a quick get-away without washing my hands.  

Another memorable graduation was when one of our sons finished his homeschool program. We had met him at an orphanage in Colombia. He was Deaf and we could sign: a match made in heaven. He learned his first signs and reveled in the power of language.  

A few months later, he heard his first sound. He jumped up and down, pointed to his ear and signed, “Surprise!  Surprise!”  

He’s been full of surprises ever since. 

We read a book on children with attachment disorder. It would have made our way so much easier if such a book had been available years ago. Almost makes us want to go through it all again, just for the chance to do it right. Almost.

We learned a few things the book didn’t cover. How long it takes an unattached child to learn the difference between living and non-living things, for example. We worked on that for years. People asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. “Fireworks,” he chirped. When he finally understood what people were and that he had to be one, he settled on being a snowman. Other lessons were harder, unspeakably harder.

But at his graduation, he danced on the stage. “The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when he delights in his way” (Psalm 37:23).

Congratulations, graduates!