05 October 2009

step right, this way

so major. these are the shoes that my niece wore for her 8th grade graduation ceremony. patent-leather, sling back heel with bow.

{notes from graduation day}

a triumphant smile stretched (for a country mile) across her face as she strode into the auditorium. we scream. we yell. we, also, don't care if the cheap guy sitting in front of us turns around all ready to shoosh our shenanigans with his passive aggressive sideways eyes and sighs. verbal push did not come to verbal shove (i'm an ed lover not a fighter) as i might've launched him into Camp Air Horn territory (this family was not 'fraid to express themselves via horn. hilare! bwwwooong!)

i see her eyes squint as she scans the bleachers for familiar faces. we scream louder. we yell higher. we are heard! her smile leaps and loops behind her ears. her hands blur as they wave to us with frenzied excitement. i'd be better at choking back tears if it weren't for the lump of emotions already lodged in my throat.

there were speeches, speeches, and more speeches (including a miley cyrus reference! yee!). i use this time to touch up my face. there was also a lot of name calling. but not that kind. they called at least 100 names before they got close to you.

you rose and headed towards the stage. i hear your name. you shake a suited hand and grasp your diploma with the other. the smile stretches around the face and back again like one of jupiter's rings. we cheer loudly. we yell ever more loudly. when you take your seat, we are louder still.

i yell into your bones. my love and praise for you sent straight to the marrow for safekeeping and never forgetting.

you and your friends marched out as the band softly played, over the rainbow (hawaiian).

a full gymnasium of people want out. need out. it's a flesh mash. the crowd eventually spits us into a cluster fuck already in progress. clusters of tangled balloon bouquets, drivers in cars not checking their blind spots and leaning into horns (surprisingly, no air horns!), bright flower arrangements, wrapped in crisp plastic that you have to keep a minimum 3 feet perimeter around so as not to crush this shit you just bought on the street outside of the school, people with cameras and camera phones (and no sense to pull off to the side to handle their biznazz = death wish!) people with video cameras and flip cameras so they walk, backwards, with their hands out in front of them oblivious of their surroundings and their surroundings feet, people with old video cameras that you put up on your shoulder and strap in and asking their mortified children to hold cables and press down duct tape, people pulling, other people pushing back, people with out manners, little kids that just don't give a fack that you just graduated and only have a stink face for you because you will still be the suck to them. diploma shimploma.

the flesh mash lurched forward. it belched. then dissipated. we catch our breath. we roll our eyes. we go to the girl's bathroom (high school even!).

her feet are aching. she endures. she walks with poise across the quad. a girl after my own heart. she walks with out heels in her hand or bare feet. (jackie kennedy wore her chanel suit into the wee hours following the assassination of jfk, brain bits and all!) choosing to just walk it out. one's shoes are often too fly to be carried! someone once asked if it were a prerequisite that my shoes be painful. my feet can hurt but they won't look it.

my niece is book (4.0) and lady smart (double trouble!). she didn't take her shoes off because (could look disjointed or broken down), as any well heeled (and maybe a little blistered) lady will tell you, once you unleash the beasts, the beasts will get swoll and good luck getting this back into your strappy, higher than high confection.

she's expressing a certain pride of self that comes with developing your own style. standards that you maintain as part of your own individual swagger.

niece, you made it through much pomp and many a circumstances, the stay in school and just say no messages, the shy boys that want one picture with you and would you please ask your dad to stop mean muggin me, the both of your parents wanting separate pictures and awkwardly agreeing to one group shot, the grandma still has a film camera and needs for you to hold that pose while she puts a new roll in but firsts drops it back into the abyss that is her purse...pulls out juicy fruit instead, that's not it...just one mo' sec...it was right here...

niece, i know you're no longer quite a girl but you are well on your way to becoming a most awesome young lady.

{ doper than dope }

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