Commencement Exercises

I played tennis with my son the other day. It was his idea. It's been two years since he last picked up a racquet, which certainly must have made tennis with his old mom a bit more tolerable. We kept playing, even after the bell signaling the end of our hour had sounded.

The last time I hit tennis balls with my son he was a petulant high school kid, seething with anger at anything I said or did and perfectly capable of making an outing on the tennis court a referendum on my bad parenting. This time, it was as if I had stepped out there with a peer; a far more skilled albeit rusty peer, but a friendly companion who was perfectly capable of having a good time with his old mom. Weird.

Last night, I went on an impromptu shopping trip with my youngest daughter. As we entered the mall, she put her arm around me and told me how lucky she felt to be part of our often inappropriate and obviously flawed family. Only a day earlier she had treated me as if I were unworthy of calling myself a human, and yet here she was telling me she envied kids who had to meet our family for the first time. She had just met her "boyfriend's" family and apparently, though they are perfectly polite, they don't engage in things like silly laughter and they don't allow the kids to wear caps at the dinner table (the dinner table? Wow!) and they require their kids' friends to address them as "Mr. and Mrs." She chattered away contentedly as I dragged her to the "Intimates" department so I could locate some steel reinforced undergarments that might help me squeeze into my dress for Friday night. Weird.

Today, I leave with my two younger children and my husband to fly to D.C. for our oldest daughter's college graduation (imagine the security they're going to need on that flight). Yesterday, when we chatted on the phone, my daughter and I made a pact to not let anything or anybody -- particularly anybody of the male persuasion -- ruin one minute of what should be a proud and momentous weekend for us both. She mentioned later how much I've helped her to get through some trying times. Weird.

We're all going through some commencement exercises this weekend. My oldest is officially entering the world of reality, or at least some version thereof. My son is following close on her heels, still safely ensconced in the unreality of college but able to appreciate simple fun with his mom. My youngest is snapping out of her bitter and aggressive teenage funks more quickly, and is happily reflecting on how blessed she is to be a part of a family that can be, sometimes, rather overtly fucked up. And my husband and I, well, we're getting along and, as far as I know, neither one of us has an ice pick stashed in a carry-on.

Let the new era begin.