Graduation

Last Edit August 22, 1999

My son graduated from High school in August and entered college two weeks later. Community college. In spite of Chris Rock's remark that "anybody in the community can go to community college". In California, they are stepping stones for those who are not yet ready for the larger universe of a University campus.
California does it this way: Community college - up to two years at $12/unit - take all your GED requirements (general education - about 48 units) - take some electives. Figure out what it is you want to major in. Live at home. Work part-time if necessary. Full time load is four courses.
Junior college is another name that works.
Then we have the Cal State University campuses - These can issues BS and BA degrees. Any class taken at the community college that stated it was transferable to "CSU" can be transferred there. Then you have to review what's needed for them to issue a degree (how many more units).
And at the top we have the University of California campuses. These issue two-year and four-year degrees (most people take 5 years) and then can issue the Master's and Doctoral degrees and have research grants. I spent 12 years on an off these campuses for my degrees and for later continuing education - professional certificates.
At the top, the Universities take about $15,000/year give or take a little. You can live at home if you live near one or live in dorms or live in near-by apartment complexes. The UC campuses accept certain designated class from the Community colleges.
So my son made it out and has started. But he registered late. So I spent a day and a half helping him to register, buying books, etc. And he went to his first week - and waited until that week-end to tell me to buy him a C compiler - because he does not yet drive you see (written test not passed) and he has not yet found the computer lab. In spite of 3 hour delays between the end of school and when I can get to him.
Yes, Momma is the car-pool at the moment. I am encouraging either find someone to car-pool with or figure out the bus routes. We have them. Near us. Go all the way to college. If I drive him in the morning - he can wander home by himself. I hope.
Of course, now I am stuck in Fremont for a bit linger - gives me time to finish the house (oh where oh where can my contractor be - that last $800 he doesn't need so he hasn't been back. He will eventually need it - and, his wife is not a realtor. Ho Ho! I have him! Want to list my house? FINISH IT!)
Anyway, I want to be closer to work. Lets me be home faster. Spend more time writing. Be present at after-work functions without paying for it in 4 hours commute home time. The Silicon Valley is not well designed. It wasn't when I worked for AMD in the late 1970's and it isn't now.
But I digress.
I always buy my sons a suit for graduation. It is a leftover tradition because I come from the East Coast and we were more formal in my day. I went to college in a wool-suit wardrobe I made myself with money from my 4-H project egg-laying chickens. Say that fast.
My older son wore his in a commercial and one or two other times. He works out. He weighs in at 190. He looks thin. Dense body. Steel whip. His suit no longer fits. He never wears one anyway.
My younger son wishes to loose weight so we made sure his suit could be altered. And bought the best one I could think of at the MensWarehouse. It is gorgeous. He will wear it in Toronto. It is dark. Dress shirt. Suspenders. Ties. Shirts. Pocket handkerchief. Dress shoes, Dress socks. Tie chains. He will be a knock-out.
And he wore it to his graduation.
He had his cap and gown - because you buy them now.
He was with 45-50 other students from summer school, adult school, in a medley of colorful caps and gowns - and some without them.
His brother was there with camera in hand and a tripod, I had 2-3 cameras, and I was there so early that we were the first ones seated. It was an interesting mix. Some of these kids were troubled kids who had made it out and who were so relieved. Others were like my kid in that they needed extra time and help that the school system didn't or couldn't give.
The parents were from all over - and as excited as I was. Fini! And delight that they had made it this far.
My son said later that without his friends he felt foolish going through the motions - he got cheers from strangers and from his family. He wisely said, "This was for you Mom." I said' "later on it will be for you". We took lots of silly hugging pictures and then he ran for the car.
And we went to - Red Lobster. Of course. Family night. "Momma pays, have whatever you want".
None of our waitresses were on duty (NONE!) so we had someone new. We three sat down and ordered - drinks. My eldest had a LottaColada with booze - my youngest had a LottaColada without (a virgin) and we made a fuss to see that the correct drink was served. You couldn't tell at first because you couldn't taste the booze in the non-virgin drink.
For the uninitiated, these are quart-sized, oversized Margarita glasses filled with a milky drink. Coconut? I opted for a Margarita. It came in a 10" glass with the "shot" on the side. I had to have help pouring it in. I am not used to this. My elder son could manage it. Shameful!
I had my usual fish and veggies. The kids what they wanted. My graduate had steak and crab. We had a waitress who was trying - who kept forgetting things - she brought rice instead of potatoes for my eldest and then never brought back the potatoes. We finally told her to forget it.
We ate and drank and I held my breath - which was a brand new suit. Expensive. And he looked soooo good in it. Like a CEO. He carries it well.
He made it. I was relieved. And high as a kite. The tequila had made it through. My elder son would drive me home. One drink with all that food did not bother him. Although I would make him wait half an hour before trying the freeway. Mother's are like that. He had carbohydrate - I had not had any so my booze hits fast and turns my still-healing face red. All that increased blood flow.
My younger son ordered a "shark bite" - it is syrup, sticky, in a "shark" - like jaws.
And the waitress delivered it - right to his lap.
I was very good. I just held my mouth with my hand and I did not scream.
My son leapt up. The waitress ran for seltzer. My elder son leapt up. The three of them put seltzer on the suit, the jacket, under the buttons, the tie, the pants - anywhere shiny.
Red Lobster will get the bill for the suit and tie to be cleaned. The manager said so. He said this while I was still holding my mouth shut and my eyes were the size of saucers. I was proud of myself.
I thought I was doing very well. I still tipped her - just not the full 20% - 15% was sufficient.
My younger son worried that she would lose her job. At crabby Monday - we were assured that this happens. Our manager, with whom we often converse, even brings these dry cleaning bills home to sort.
So we had a memorable evening.
He's out of high-school. Started in college - with three art classes and one class in C. I need that C compiler today so I will go get the rascal out of bed. My Regency dress is waiting for its hem and the CPA filed another extension. THIS WEEK - I promised! Right after the notice to the field and several calls to various BUs to set up a new calendar of events and then type the approved course descriptions and attend a meeting or two. And a call to the foot doctor. Let us not forget a trip to see about the mammogram and other top-level issues (put that nice didn't I?).
And, of course, the artist who did the Fabio site re-design has sent the pages (with the roll-overs encoded) and now I have to assemble them with their guts and build a better website. Before the Romantic Time article hits that references the website. And this takes hours per page as I check links and structure.
My evenings are not free.
And I need to stop typing - my pink regency dress is hanging here and nagging me. I need to finish it, figure out if I will use a hat (my hair being at a problematic stage) and find a fan.
Busy week.
And I guess I am now learning C and figuring out how to help him pass the written driving test for his learner's permit. Without engaging in any handicap program for the Dyslexic.
It's OK. I will miss the big lug when he finally moves out.
Might have to consider dating.