Friday, August 17, 2012
This summer, that now-grown son of mine graduated from the S.I. Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University, moved back home, picked up endless hours at the local movie theater to earn his modest keep, and began the process of looking for the right next career step. He had the chance to interview with some leading agencies—one in New York City and one in Boston. He sent letters, daily, to firms across the country. He brought so much patience to the process, so much ingenuity and dignity, so much of himself. He asked for nothing from anyone, sold himself on his own merits, did it well. Several weeks ago he found a right opportunity. And then he waited for the door to open.
This morning we learned that it has, and one day after Labor Day, our son will be headed off to work, from his own urban apartment—handsome as all get out no matter how you look at him, strong-backed, square jawed, and happy. I'll be here, in the suburbs, entirely glad for him. It's that mother thing. We know it well.
This is a photograph snatched on graduation day—Rodi and Mario, my brothers in law, and Nora, my mother-in-law. One come from London, one from Dallas, and the lady in pink from El Salvador—all of them as happy as my husband and I were. (My brother and his wife graciously joined us on graduation weekend as well, they are just not in this shot.) There was so much joy that day—so much hope. And that hope has been met with good news.
Lucky, and we know it.