Graduation

It was a solemn occasion.  The excitement of the gathered crowd was palpable.  Cameras flashed, conversations were conducted in a subdued murmur, and all became silent as the graduates filed into the room.

There were ten of them, clearly feeling the import of the occasion.  After all, it is not every day that one graduates from Nursery.  They walked into the Primary room and took their places in the Sunbeam row, conscious of their elevation from babyhood to that of the Primary child- aloof, mature, sanguine.

The nursery leader called them up, one by one, to accept their certificates.  Heedless of convention, this group of free spirits had the confidence to wander around the room, talk to the electrical outlets, scream for daddy, and pick their noses.  They are individuals.  They do what feels right.  I have to respect that kind of integrity.

And, in the middle of it all, was my first born.  Deb Jr., in her lavender Easter dress, black tights, and white shoes, handling it all with her customary poise.  "Mommy!" she cried.  "I can't sit here!"

"Sit there!" Mommy hissed from behind the piano.  "Don't make me count to five!"  Of course she made me count to five, knowing that I couldn't get up from behind the piano until the "Hello Song" was complete.  

But, then, they don't let just anyone graduate from Nursery.  Only the most special, intelligent, beautiful children (by which I mean, "children with birthdays within the calendar year 2005") graduated from Nursery today.  Next week, she'll be a Sunbeam, and I'll be much, much older.