And just like that, it was over...

You spend 12 years getting there. Maybe 13. Hard work. From "childhood" to "adulthood." Okay. Maybe you worked hard. Maybe you didn't. It comes easy for some. A nightmare for others. But after all of that time, blood, sweat and tears, it's finally here. The day you look forward to and pray for. And the day your parents dread. Graduation.

Going to school is like having the flu. We all do it, but it's different for everybody. Maybe you are an extrovert. Or an introvert. There's the "popular" crowd. There's the "lower class" crowd. We called the country kids "goat ropers". There are "geeks" or "nerds." There are those who never study and pull straight "A's"' and those who stay up late into the night just to earn a passing grade. The athletes, the cheerleaders, band, choir, and some schools still have vocational programs. No matter how school goes, everybody lives for Graduation Day.

I remember a bit about my graduation. 1979. The Tiger Football Field downtown. Texas heat. But who cared? I don't remember how many were in my graduating class, somewhere south of 300. But leading up to it, there were Senior parties. Meetings with counselors. Some praying they would graduate. Some finding out they wouldn't. Some didn't make it to graduation. Accidents. Cancer took 2-3 before we crossed the stage.  School Yearbooks and signing parties. All looking forward to that day when our lives would forever change. Funny. People you just spent 12-13 years seeing almost every day will soon become strangers. So many you don't see again for 10, 20, 30 years or more. Sure, the internet helps close that gap, but stop and think. Do you know where all of your classmates are today?

Schools are different now. Very little discipline. You no longer get an automatic "0" if your work is late. And there is a larger proliferation of private schools and home schooling. I never thought I would consider sending a child to a private school or home school, but with over crowded classrooms and such a huge emphasis being placed on passing a test, add in the fictionalization of history...it's just not the same.

I've spent the last two weekends attending two very different graduation ceremonies. One public, one private. What they had in common was the group of bright eyed graduates, eager and looking forward to going out into the world. Maybe college. Maybe a vocation. Some will serve each and every one of us by joining the military branch of their choice. It would be neat to interview each of them. Get a chance to find out "their story." Some told the tale by decorating their mortarboard. I'll get around to telling you about one that stuck with me.

Today's graduation was a private school. 14 graduates. About double the number from a year ago. I have to say. It was fun. Well dressed parents, grand parents, friends, family. Each student was recognized for the scholarships they were receiving. Some were recognized in advance for participating in an "Honors" diploma program. No one was offended that they was a Valedictorian or Salutatorian. In a big school, you don't even know all of your classmates by name sometimes. These 14 kids are friends. For life. Their parents were recognized. There was a video about each of them showing pictures from different times in their lives. And finally, they walked. They didn't have to go up to the stage. They were already sitting on it. And just like that, 14 kids went from being classmates to being the future of our world. Something they've been working on.

Last week we attended our nephew's graduation near Ontario, Oregon. He graduated 3rd in his class. A small, farming community high school. 65 students would cross the stage for that hard earned diploma. Just like the private school graduation, there were parents, grandparents, family and friend. But it was obvious that many of these parents were laborers. I could see and here English being translated to Spanish. There were too many graduating to have the intimate type ceremony held at the private school, but scholarships were listed in the program. As were the names of those who had already either committed to or enlisted in the military and the branch they would serve in. 65 brave souls maybe a bit unsure of what the future holds, but ready to take it head on.

Schools and our world have changed a lot since 1979. Too much being politically correct. Too many friendships going down the drain over difference in politics. I hope and pray these young folks change things for the better.

At both school, many of the students had decorated their mortarboards. Something I'm sure we would have paid a fine for. Some had flowers, some had "Class of 2016", some had quotes. But one mortarboard hit me like a ton of bricks. Maybe because the young woman wearing it was a real person right before me. It simply read, "My Parents Crossed the Border so I Could Cross This Stage". This simple statement stopped me in my tracks. Maybe her parents are successful business people, but odds are they are part of the laborer group. Maybe they are here legally, maybe illegally. But seeing this young lady realize her parents dream for her changed my outlook on a lot of things. Regardless of their citizenship status, suddenly, all "those illegal aliens" we hear about, in my mind, just became a group of real people with real families. And real hopes and dreams. Kinda like the soldier said to the airman. "It's different when you fight face to face versus dropping bombs from 10,000 feet."

The final graduate to cross the stage is challenged by cerebral palsy, and with the aid of a walker, she stood and received her diploma. The graduates switched their tassels, and with a yell, they all tossed their mortarboards into the air. And just like that, it was over.

We had a grand time celebrating our nephew's graduation, visiting with family and enjoying our trip to and from. I got to meet "new to me" family members, but I think it's that mortarboard that will be sticking with me for some time to come.