the future, so that they may

Another reflection on my father.

My college graduation took place on a picture-perfect Thursday in June. Tens of thousands of friends and relatives of my fellow graduates were lined up early in hopes of grabbing good seats. My father was not one of those in line. While my mother and sister saved seats, my father met me in front of my dorm to take pictures. Commencement began with a parade march from my dorm, around the main campus yard, and then around to the graduates’ seating area. For the entire march, my father was always ten to twenty yards away trying to capture the perfect image.

After lunch later that afternoon, I saw him sitting quietly by himself in the shade. I walked over to him and said, "You must be exhausted, what with having taken approximately a million pictures." He replied, "I’m fine, actually. I’m just sitting here thinking that after all these years imagining this day, it’s hard to believe it’s finally coming true." I realized then that I’d been wrong all these years. I always thought my father was proud of me only because he’d have something to brag about to his friends; that his son was a Harvard grad. No, he was happy for me, knowing that from that point on, my life was going to be markedly better. Even if he didn’t admit it, I’m sure he was a little tired; I imagine carrying a vision of a son’s secure future for twenty-two years can really wear a person out.

My father enjoys holding my new sweet thing when he's feeling well enough to do so. On several occasions he has glanced up wistfully and stated, "18 years until she graduates high school. 18 years -- that's a long time." He understands that the chances of his actually seeing her graduate in his state of health are enormously slim. And yet, he still carries that vision inside him, even the slimmest of hopes of seeing a secure future for his loved ones some wondrous thing.

There's no religious lesson here. This just makes me sad.