Of High School Graduation

My oldest daughter has graduated from high school.

It’s taken me a while to wrap my mind around that statement of fact. In what I thought was a particularly introspective moment, one of her best friends told me how he felt about graduating from high school. In his own incredibly well-mannered way, he answered honestly, “I really don’t know. I don’t think it’s completely soaked in yet.”

Indeed. The problem is it happened so freaking fast. When Parker was born 18 years ago, we were told by many well-meaning old people (you know the ones – people in their mid-40s!) to “cherish” these early years because they will fly by so quickly. Yeah, sure. Those years of sleepless nights, spit-up, diaper changes, teething, colds, and ear infections could not go by fast enough. Or so I thought.

Now, I turn around and I hear my daughter’s name being called out as a graduate of the 2012 Class of Mountain Brook High School. It was a truly surreal moment. But, no, it was really happening. I know it happened because I have pictures of her in all of her robed glory along with 300+ other friends.

She had asked me more than once leading up to the pomp and circumstance whether I would cry. As she knows, I don’t cry often but there are quintessential fatherly or parental moments that do move me to be more emotional than normal. And, let’s face it, the prospect of seeing your child taking her first steps into a new and exciting chapter of her life, would definitely qualify as one of those moments.

But, no. I didn’t get emotional. Sure, there was a lot of hugging. Proud back-slapping. I thought I would literally explode with pride. But, no. No crying. I’m not sure why. What I’ve told people is that we (the immediate family, the in-laws and the out-laws) were so caught up in the joyousness of the moment, that there simply was no time for tears. No room for them. The tears were evaporated by joy.

I looked around the auditorium and saw many, many friends whose faces were just like mine – completely aglow with pride in the knowledge that we had done it. And I use the royal “we” purposefully here. Over the years, Parker has had to overcome more than one challenge to make it to that stage, and she did it in one of the toughest school systems in the state.

By her own admission, she would say that she wasn’t the smartest kid in her class but, by God, I would put her work ethic up against anyone’s. That kid will out-study and out-work anyone. Then layer onto that a commitment from her mom that the she would do whatever necessary to ensure Parker received whatever help she needed – at home or at school or from others who became extended family (God Bless You, Sandy Naramore).

All of that hard work paid off on Thursday, May 24, sometime between 7 p.m. and 8:30 p.m. when the name Virginia Parker Pippen was called and my beautiful girl walked across that stage to proudly accept her high school diploma.

All that said and it took an 18-year-old young man to adquately explain my feelings at this moment: “I really don’t know how I feel at this moment. I don’t think it’s soaked in yet.”

Of Progressive Lenses and Chipper Jones

It’s been a point of pride for some time now that my wife is older than I am. Granted, it’s only two years, but, as it turns out, these are a couple of important years. Plus, for the time between April 14 and June 30, she is actually three years older than I am.

This age disparity has made for some interesting conversations and plenty of fun over the years. When my wife and I first met, I was actually 19 years old. A mere teen. This meant that Rachael was 21. As such, her mother would introduce us not as a couple but as Rachael and “her friend, Bret.” Apparently, according to unwritten Southern manners, it was not polite for a lady of Rachael’s advanced years to be showing romantic tendencies toward one so young.

Inevitably, the march of time is the great equalizer. Generally, Rachael has experience the vagaries of age sooner than I,but those experiences only provide glimpses to what I have in store. And there are moments that clearly mark the passage of time as age takes its toll on the body.

Three moments have marked the passage of time for me in the past few weeks.

First came an adjustment to my glasses. Now I’ve pretty much had extremely poor eyesight since the second grade. I’ve never been a contacts kind of person – there’s something about putting one’s finger in one’s eye that just gives me the creeps.  I’m also not the kind of guy who wants to have elective surgery on his eyeballs either. So it’s been glasses over the years.


A shot of the new "progressive" lenses. See. . .No Lines!

Yes, the prescription of the glasses has gotten stronger as age and computers have taken their toll, but all of this is normal. Then came the discovery a few weeks ago that I needed progressive lenses.



Now, for those of you who are not aware, “progressive” is the new, modern term for “bi-focals.” There is no line visible in the lens but they “progressively” get stronger as you lower your line of vision so you can “progressively” read smaller type easier as you “progressively” have to read more about the medication you’re taking as you are “progressively” getting older.

It was to my great satisfaction that my wife, who is also near-sighted, a couple of years ago had to get progressive lenses. It was yet another example of my wife’s advancing age as I stayed eternally youthful. But the fun and games at my wife’s expense stopped when I noticed it became more and more difficult to see the tiny type on the back of a TV I was installing or that I simply couldn’t focus on the type in the newspaper or that I had to bump up the size of the type on my Kindle.

Now, to add insult to injury, this is the year that Chipper Jones of the Atlanta Braves has announced his retirement. Unless he has a change of heart, this will be his last year to play professional baseball. I’ve gone over it a dozen times and I cannot simply cannot remember another player whom I’ve followed closely from the beginning of his career to the end of his career like Chipper Jones.

He’s always been with the Braves. I’ve always been a Braves fan. I’ve seen Braves players come and go, but Chipper has been with the Braves since 1993. And he’s retiring because he is over the hill at the age of 40.

Chipper Jones, who is old at 40

Yes, I know he will be in the Hall of Fame and all that, but it’s Chipper Jones. He’s not supposed to retire yet. One of the sportswriters in Birmingham suggested that Chipper go ahead and pack it in now because his knees are shot and he’s only hurting the team by hanging on.

For me, at age 45, there has been much joy in Mudville as I have watched Chipper hobble out to the plate and crush two home runs this season that have sparked the heretofore pathetic Braves’ offense.

But you can have your progressive lenses and your Chipper Jones retirement. The true moment at which I knew age was upon me like a thief in the night was seeing my oldest daughter try on her cap and gown. She picked it up last week from school and is slated to graduate from high school on May 24.

My little girl will be heading to Auburn University in the fall.

I will be visiting – often. The good news is I’ll be able to see things clearer. Maybe I’ll run into Chipper and we can talk about the inevitability of aging.