Eight years ago
next weekend, Clare graduated eighth grade.
During her party, she snuck in to watch Northwestern play in the
Division I Women’s College World Series; the Wildcats finished second. Four years ago, Clare graduated high school
and watched UCLA win the Series. I
watched, too, because that was my job as a father, and to drive to wherever
next week’s tournament was being held.
Yesterday, on
May 31, 2014, our daughter graduated yet again.
It was a sunny day in Elmhurst, as evidenced by my sunburned forehead
and scalp; the commencement speaker went on about achieving goals the way he
had in setting up a PPO health plan for some state or country, I’m not sure
which. I was only twenty-four hours
removed from a trip to the emergency room for “peripheral vertigo.” Who knew a human being could vomit so while
lying flat down on a floor?
We had a nice
lunch after the ceremony, changed and watched this year’s World Series. We liked Oregon, but they’re out. And I won’t be driving to a tournament next
weekend.
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