Gradu-palooza!

Well, so the tall boy graduated from high school last weekend, and as you can imagine I'm very proud and a little freaked out. People, the space-time continuum is pissing me off, because this child was born about a week and a half ago. I just pulled into the driveway from dropping him off at pre-school, y'all.

But it seems I am a little mixed up about the calendar, because the entire month of June has been arranged to make sure that I practice my "so long, it's been good to know ya."

First, the tall boy was kissed good-bye by the entire varsity lacrosse team. The coach talked a lot of blah-blah-blah about the tall boy's dedication and hard work. He didn't mention the part about that lung collapsing over and over again . . . .

Then, at the orchestra concert he and his stand partner -- the only seniors in the ensemble -- were praised and glorified. Ask me to tell you some time the tragic story of the stolen viola. I mean really! -- who steals a viola?!

tangent: The stand partner -- who was in pretty much every class with the tall boy this year -- has been a great friend. When the tall boy was in the hospital, she gave him the sweetest gift: a cute plush version of his lungs, with the anatomically correct surgery performed using her own formidable surgical skills.

Somewhere along the way he attended a lovely Boy Scout function . . . .

. . . .oh! Did I mention to you that he's an Eagle Scout?!?

And then this weekend was the big event -- held at an indoor arena, praising Jesus -- because it was pretty stinking hot out side.

The tall boy examined his diploma pretty carefully -- it almost looked as if he wasn't sure it was a legitimate document. Does he know something about his grades that we don't know?!?

Afterward he was stopped by various females (love this one: funny, smart, beautiful) who were collecting digits.

Then he found his buddy, who was as happy to see the tall boy's Coke as he was to see the tall boy.

tangent: Check out the girl in the background, who was sobbing -- overcome by either the emotion of the moving Commencement exercises, or by the just tragically overwhelming heat. Hard to tell.

And then the parties commenced:

It's very hard not to adore this collection of ragamuffin tall boys.

And this one!

My godson -- he and the tall boy have been photographed together literally since the day my boy was born. And since that day one has been the tall boy and the other -- not so much. They've been friends forever, and everyone comments on their "Mutt and Jeff" appearance. And can I say that they are so gracious and loving, because neither one of them thinks it is particularly amusing, but they always smile and chuckle . . . .

Well, on graduation night, the godson said, "can you please make it look like the tall boy and I are not both mutant freaks?" (I'm paraphrasing.) This is the photograph that resulted.

And so is this one.

Shoot me now.

So the tall boy is all about the fabulous Bulldawgs varsity lacrosse team -- he's a defenseman, which means he plays "long stick." Since the tall boy is, as you will have surmised, tall, this is not a problem for him. Playing defenseman this year has also meant that the tall boy tends to play the entire game; not that many guys play long stick.

The tall boy loves everything about lacrosse: the thrill of streaking down the field; the teamwork and strategy; and frankly, the violence of the game -- all of these make him happy. As you may remember I was a little skittish about him playing this season. People! Doctors removed part of the child's lung six months ago! But the tall boy was absolutely adamant that he would play during his senior year, and he convinced his doctors to work with him. They all ganged up on me and told me I was being one of those annoying, crazy worry-moms. Crazy worry-moms are the worst. My only defense is to remind everyone -- they hit each other in the chest with sticks. Hard.

tangent: When the tall boy was starting out in the sport, his first coach tried really hard to break these (young) boys of their "Stop the game because I got an owie" fearfulness. He gave out coveted red stickers for the boys to wear proudly on their helmets any time they bled.

So you can imagine how thrilled I was when the husband called on the way home from the game the other night.

"How was the game?" I asked him.

"It was a great game! A little frustrating for the tall boy because they lost, but we had a great time."

"Fabulous! Are you guys hungry?" The tall boy is always hungry so this was totally a ridiculous question.

"Well . . . . "

When the husband starts a sentence this way, what comes next is never happy-making.

Half an hour later, the tall boy and I had taken our usual seats in the waiting room at the hospital E.R. A lacrosse stick blow to the wrist, followed shortly by a fall on the same wrist, were enough to make the team trainer frown, and send us for x-rays.

tangent: Can I just say that the tall boy has received enough radiation -- through x-rays and CAT scans -- in the past two years that if he is able to parent father a child with fewer than two heads, I will sing my praise to the Lord.

Tall boy aficionados know to keep their eyes peeled for those texting fingers . . . .

. . . and my geeky athlete will always be able to produce a book. This one looks so light and fun -- a perfect beach read!

When it was all over, we came home with a wrist brace and a referral to the quasi-sexy orthopedic doctor. The tall boy is completely cranky because a) this hospital adventure has gotten him out of absolutely no academic commitments, and b) he has been benched until the sexy doctor gives the all-clear.

Poor tall boy!