Get out there and make a name for yourself?

Dear Blog Reader;

I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. I still bask in the glow of spending the weekend with my family and Chris’ family at Ball State watching Grace and Chris graduate. We were in Worthern Arena with nearly 1000 newly minted Walmart Greeters, McDonald’s Cashiers, and the newly unemployed. I’m lovin it.

I did find it ironic that a 16 year journey that started with phonics flashcards ended with a phonics disaster. As the graduates approached the podium they were to present the reader with an index card with their name printed phonetically to aid in the pronunciation of their names; great plan, poor execution. With two Kozaks in the building, the reader had two shots to get it right. As number 623 Chris approached, he handed a card that had his name spelled as KOH-ZAK. After running through the higher education interpretation machine, it came out Kojak. 

I was even more distressed about Chris’ education when he looked at me blankly as I teased him after the ceremony that I was going to get Tootsie Pops for his Christmas stocking going forward. He had no context of Telly Savalas as Kojak. I gave him my best “who loves you baby?”; totally blank. Why do we let the Kozaks use our Hulu account? I fear that his four years have been wasted studying to become a lawyer of the highest caliber. He’ll not get these years back. Someday when he is 160 years old and he is asked if he has regrets . . . he will lose focus and not answer the question. He'll a 160 years old for crying out loud.

Grace took a subtler approach. Thinking how hard can it be, her index card simply said KO-ZAK. We had been anticipating this moment; wondering if the announcer would pull it together. Grace was graduate number 779. It had been a long day for announcer person, what with all of the Smith’s, Adams’, and Mephistopheles’ (what were his parents thinking). So when Grace appeared, card in outstretched hand, friends and family in the stands hoping against hope, announcer woman lost all focus and blurted out Kos-mumblemumblemumble-st. What? Who? I know that it is petty. After 52 years, I have scrambled a few rungs up Maslow’s hierarchy. I know that Grace and Chris received a great education; were mentored by fantastic professors that cared and left their mark on two fantastic young people, but it would have been nice to hear Kozak clearly enunciated and loudly amplified for a couple of seconds.

Earlier in the week, Grace had posted a “throw back Thursday” photo on Facebook. It shows Grace, Bev, and I in a newly minted dorm room at the beginning. Ben must have been taking the picture. She placed the following caption with her post. “If you had told this girl she would go to Ghana for a year, get married, and get recruited by nuns in Rome, she would have called you a liar.” She didn’t mention jumping out of a fully functioning plane 3 weeks into her freshman year. While mentioning Ghana, she left out a few details about falling into an open sewer, or a half day ordeal getting across town to pick up a parental care package, and having the post office close 20 minutes before her arrival. No mention of the Martin Luther King Day outings with friends or games of “kick the car.” Don’t ask.

Oh okay, I’ll tell you because I despise this game and am dying to share my disdain for it. Kick the car is a game where members of my daughter’s cabal would stand next to the busy street and try to kick cars as they go past. This seemed insanely dangerous to one’s person and insensitive to the owner of a dent-able 2,500 piece of metal. What would have happened if one of the hooligan’s shoelaces had looped around the edge of the bumper and they were dragged down the street? Or (and this is more likely) one of the passersby had taken pride in ownership of their previously undented vehicle and taken offense to Mr. or Miss Smarty Pants intentionally inflicting damage on said vehicle. Things could have gone South in a hurry.

I can’t wait. Some day I will be sitting in the back of a minivan with a grandchild or two. They will be sitting there bored. Suddenly, they will become aware of the extensions protruding from their buttocks and kick the seat in front of them, and mom and dad will holler back at them, “Stop kicking the car.” I do look forward to that day.

After the ceremony, we took this picture. We have grown in numbers. Ben has graduated from picture taker to model. Thank you, Steve and Nita Kozak for fulfilling the role of photographer.

It has been quite a journey for all of us; not just to Ghana and back, but also finding out that Grace isn’t an elementary teacher after all. She is a leader and wants to use that leadership to facilitate human trafficking’s end. Chris isn’t one of the world’s great architects but has a passion for the law and a desire for justice. Ben found out that he isn’t management material but has a huge heart for elementary children in educational crisis. However, the lovely Miss Beverly is still lovely and she found that she has a knack for connecting with college aged adults and can act as a bridge between where they are and where they are going.

Me? Well there is less of me. 10,000 miles on a bike will do that to you. I still have an Ipad in my hand, and by starting this Blog in response to my daughter jumping out of an airplane 4 years ago, I found that I love this few minutes a week with you.

To all of you graduates out there, move your tassel from one side to the other; matriculate, and get out there and make a name for yourself.

Take care,

Roger