Rambling Valedictory

Today I attended my nephew's high school graduation. He went to a venerable old Catholic boys' school that, when I attended another Catholic boys' school that was (and I assume still is) something of a rival, had a reputation (among us anyway) of being (how shall I say?) of slightly lesser gravitas and intellectual rigor.

But I came away from today's ceremony with a much more positive impression. Behind the more macho, jockish, hoo-ah! air of the place -- as compared with my alma mater -- I got a strong sense of academic seriousness as well as of an attention to ritual and tradition that made me feel a twinge of envy. For all the strengths of my school -- and there were many; I feel lucky to have gone there -- I remember it as rather paltry in the traditions department. (I've never even realized I felt that till just now and am a little surprised I recall it that way. My assessment may not even be accurate; one of my readers who also went there can correct my revisionism if he likes.)

My envy and wistfulness might stem from the fact that I'm no longer in anything like regular touch with any of the 22 classmates from my graduating class. (My nephew's class had about ten times that many.) People do move on -- that's natural. And often for the best. The valedictorian today spoke to his classmates of "taking a piece of you with me wherever I go for the rest of my life." Part of me couldn't help thinking, Give it ten or fifteen years and see what happens. Another part thought, Well, good for you guys. Maybe you will.

Yet another part thought, I actually probably do carry them with me more than I realize.

My nephew, although way more athletic than I ever was (which is to say: somewhat athletic), doesn't fit the macho, jockish mold I sensed in many of his cohort. After a few sullen adolescent years of seeming remote and unknowable to me -- and going through some emotional issues of his own that I know only the half of -- he's now, at age eighteen, pleasant, articulate, relaxed, and funny. Thank goodness -- and I say that for his sake, not mine.

It feels like it might be the beginning of getting to know him again. He's going to be studying graphic design at Penn State, and the star alumnus of his department is the hugely talented book-jacket designer Chip Kidd. A month or two ago at work, I received a review copy of a retrospective of the first twenty years of Kidd's career. I sent it to my nephew and got a nice note back from him.

I didn't really feel like an uncle for a few years there, not in the way that I used to. Now I'm starting to feel like I might be one again. Funny.

He looked very serious through the two-hour commencement -- "like he's sick to his stomach," my sister, his mother, whispered. In profile from where I sat, he looked so much like the little boy I remembered babysitting so many times! I hadn't seen that in his face in years.

Afterward, when we met up with him on the athletic field for "refreshments" (canned soda), he looked happy. He and two buddies posed for pictures with their arms around each other, goofing for the camera. I never would have been so physical and openly affectionate with any of my high school friends, certainly not in front of my parents. I get the sense that he has a small circle of close friends, unlike some of the more bigshot of his classmates who had masses of people whooping and hollering for them when their names were called.

Well, good for him for that too.