The Tassel Tradition

I am a traditionalist. I love classic clothes, classic homes. I love pen in hand and beautiful note paper as opposed to the keyboards and e-mails of today's writers. I suppose I am a throw back of sorts. I love the graduations of spring, ceremonies always seeped in the traditions of decades. From the music to the march to the tassels, I love it. And so I looked forward to this year of 'graduation' ceremonies as Kate finished middle school and Drew elementary.

First on our busy Graduation Tuesday itinerary was Drew's primary school graduation. I proudly attended the early morning ceremony. Sitting between Daddy and Adrian, I eagerly awaited the pageantry. Yes, even for 11 year olds I never imagined that I shouldn't expect graduation tradition. As the principal asked attendees to stand and honor the graduates, I steadied myself for the always emotional but especially so when one of your own is pro- or re-cessing Pomp and Circumstance. As the doors swung open and the 5th grade processional began, I stood a little straigher, head held a little higher and thought.... and thought.....what is that music? Is it....surely it isn't.....but it is Fame. You know, " Fame! I'm gonna live forever; I'm gonna learn how to shine. I'll catch the moon in my hands. Baby, remember my name......Fame." I suppose on some level it was inspiring and probably far more familiar to these fifth grade fledglings, but where was my pomp...my circumstance....my tradition?

Same day, now evening. As we drove to Kate's graduation ceremony, she excitedly announced, "Mommy, you know that Tim McGraw song you like so much? That is what they are playing as we enter the gym." Kate, surely you don't mean, "Live Like You Are Dying? "That's it...that's it, Mommy! I knew you liked it." Like it, I do, I love it....but where is my Pomp and Circumstance? Even for middle school, I should think a processional just isn't a processional without "P and C."

All week as we celebrated both Kate's and Drew's accomplishments, I had this nagging feeling. Something just wasn't as it should be. Something was amiss. Something had changed. One of life's most recognizable rites of passage had seemed a little....well....unrecognizable.

As Friday evening, the end of the work week, school week, and in this case school year arrived, I sat outside enjoying the beautiful late spring early summer night. I thought back, considering the oddities of this season of graduations. Suddenly, I heard it.....faint at first.....then building.....building with the growing breezes as a summer shower approached. There it was, rising above first bleachers, then homes, then trees.....Pomp and Circumstance emanated softly but clearly from the local high school football stadium as graduation began. Here finally was my tradition, and with it that moment I had fought all week ...that first of quite a few tears as I thought of my son and my daughter and their own tradition of tassels to come.

Maybe it is just as well that this year, my Pomp and Circumstance came in the privacy of my own back yard.

Memories, Mirrors, and Mother

Mother's Day, 2012....the second Mother's Day that I and my sisters have been without our mom. And anyone who has, as we have, experienced this particular loss knows that Mother's Day is one of the most difficult of the holidays that follow.

Mother's Day and the season of spring in this our year two are beginning to bring me happy memories. The disconsolence and despair of 2011 are beginning to be replaced by remembrances of moments with my mother. It's God's cycle of healing and hope...."a time for every purpose" as my memories become mirrors, reflecting my mother back to me.

Mother's Day had a very specific, almost ritual like routine in our mother's world. We daughters did not miss church with my mom on Mother's Day. In some years, one or more of us drove in excess of 150 miles to arrive just in time to hurry down the church aisle, rushed family in tow, and slide into our designated pew at Pageland First Baptist for the 11:00 Mother's Day service. We grumbled sometimes as the years went on that our mom seemed to forget we too were now mothers and that this special day was in our honor as well as hers. But, Mother's Day was her day. And as my sisters' and my families grew, on this day to honor all moms, we each year faithfully filled that center pew, the Blakeney pew, to overflowing with Pettits and Bonners and Joyes. Mother loved it. She basked in it. I honestly believe she informed Pastor Joel that she expected him from the pulpit to single out her family, her visiting daughters, because he always did. I am certain other parishioners had family present. They were all around. But the minister almost always welcomed us by name.....Denise....Diane....Donna....and my mother's Mother's Day was complete. For it was in her daughters that she found her sense of self.

Memories.....mirrors....

Service over and it was home for Sunday lunch. Our Hickory Street home always greeted us on Mother's Day with the competing scents of our mother's fragrant long stem roses, a gift from my dad, and southern green beans (you know the soft ones) on the stove. Unfailingly, some generous Pageland soul provided other vegetable sides or a decadent dessert or salad to complement the core menu my mother had planned. Planning the menu, up until her last year or so, was Mother's job and no one else's. I remember a couple of times my sisters and I tried to take that responsibility. Mother quickly let us know that she wasn't sure who had put us in charge of her Mother's Day Sunday dinner. As my mother's health began to fail and she allowed, however reluctantly, my sisters and me to do some of the planning, we were ever more appreciative of what our neighbors and friends in the Watermelon Capital always contributed to our menu.

Memories...mirrors....

Mother's Day signalled oncoming especially special times in the life of my family. Graduations from whatever school, and with the wide disparity in ages of grandchildren, someone was always graduating....from high school, from middle school, from elementary school and kindergarten.....I even graduated from real estate school...... graduations were ever on the horizon in May. Most recently, Mother was so proud to be a part of Matt's graduation from high school that she was in her designated seat an hour before the ceremony started. All who knew my mother knew what a feat and more importantly what a gesture of love and pride that was. This year as both Drew and Kate 'graduate,' the former from elementary school, the latter from middle, I find myself wishing Mother were here, wondering if she would have found a way to their ceremonies and shared in their mother, her daughter's pride of passage.

Memories...mirrors....

Hannah Our Dancer's recitals often closely follow Mother's Day. This was another occasion my mother simply refused to miss. In later years, when she attended such a select few events, this one remained always on Mother's calendar, circled in red and never to be overlooked. Hannah's recitals took Mother back to the days of Diane's and Donna's dance. Yes, it was her granddaughter's amazing performances, but even more, I believe Hannah's recitals transported Mother back to days she felt better and did more, back to the days her own dancer daughters were young.

Mother loved all her grandchildren in ways special to and different for each. But I think there was a unique and singular place in her heart for Matt, her first, and for Hannah, who inherited Donna's love of dance and whose talent brought joy and pride and memories to my mom.

Mirrors....

Mother's Day for us also heralded the soon to be arrival of summer and, in days of her better health, more frequent trips to Garden City Beach. Especially on more recent trips, my mother hardly left the condo. It didn't matter. She was there, at the beach, in her tiny corner of the world, and she was happy. She found a contentment there in the smallish condo that changed notably little in thirty years. Now this, this is the gene I inherited from my mom.....that is along with the hips and hair I might prefer that she had passed to another sis. But my mom and I were and are decidedly kindred spirits in our shared love for the coast.

Memories....

And, of course, right around the corner from the summers kicked off by Mother's Day......the start of Clemson football. Whether Mother was walking with cane or wheeled in a chair, if the Tigers were playing she wanted to be there....there in the Valley as Hartwell breezes blew her popcorn all over herself and surrounding fans.....there even when weather advisories forced stadium evacuation......there when the inconsistent Tigers had their heads handed to them by visiting opponents..... there so that long time stadium friends could hear her precious Davis sing the alma mater and national anthem almost before he was talking. And, on those Saturdays when she absolutely couldn't make it, Mother still wanted Daddy to drive to their Anderson hotel, so they could be closer to Clemson even if only able to watch the game on TV. Of course, Daddy did just that.

Thank you, God, for sending Mother's Day memories to mirror my mom. I wish this Mother's Day could find Diane, Donna, Daddy, and me back on that crowded Pageland pew with Mother as, my apologies to Pastor Joel, her mind wandered to thoughts of her green beans on the stove for lunch, Hannah's recital and Garden City, of her beloved Tigers and graduations to come. O Mother, I so wish......

For better or worse, she's a Pettit.....

One last Audrey pic...for awhile anyway. The white star on her chest that soon after her adoption became a 'W', as we surmised she was a Republican following in the heralded Bush tradition, now looks like a double 'W'. I have dubbed the amazing little lady Wonder Woman. Kate calls her Wild Woman... perhaps more appropo. And, Adrian, who may have had a beer too many, noted that the 'birth'mark to him looked like a bat (I would love to see what he did on the Rorschach Ink Blots) and has nicknamed our Audrey Bat Girl. I love the nicknames. After all, isn't a nickname the true indicator that someone or something belongs?

Landen The Cat is on a hunger strike. Our slightly irritable and sleep deprived family is rotating every 4 - 5 hour (day and night)potty trips. My house is a disaster. But, all is right with our little world as Bat Girl or Wild Woman or Wonder Woman or Audrey has seemingly twice kicked the Grim Reaper in the teeth. Now, if only she can survive her upcoming introduction to our 150 pound Newf Joe.....

Photo by Kate.