Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we are definitely not known for careful and sober analysis of life issues! Generally we leave those things for Mormons and other people who don't have any fun.
Today we've got something on the plate that can't be ignored.
*My daughter The Heir graduated from high school two evenings ago. (If you haven't left advice for her, see below. I'm going to print out the comments and give them to her when I think they've maxed.)
Missing from The Heir's Class of 2008 were two young men who died while in high school. One of them led Philadelphia policemen on a high speed chase that culminated in his jumping from the Benjamin Franklin Bridge. They found his body three months later. Apparently corpses sink in the colder months and then float to the top in spring.
Told ya this would be heavy going.
The other student lost from Heir's Class of 2008 died of an ordinary drug overdose, the same scenario that robbed us of Hendrix, Joplin, Curt Cobain.
Of course, during the outdoor ceremony (it rained), the principal and other speakers remembered these two deceased gentlemen with a moment of silence.
*My daughter The Spare graduated from Middle School last night. The ceremony was held indoors in a stifling gym (it did not rain inside or out). Spare will be a member of the Class of 2012 ... maybe
Because you sit there the night after a high school graduation, looking down upon all the fresh-faced 8th graders, and you think, "Which one will dive off a bridge? Which one will mix opiates and liquor? Which one will drive a car into a tree?"
Because, odds are that by 2012 one of those chairs will be empty.
I ponder The Spare and hope for the best. She's the one with the sassy mouth, the one who would rather choose an outfit than finish her homework, the one whose social calendar is always packed. She's the fighter. The drama queen. The one who says, "Faster!" when the light turns yellow.
In the state where I grew up, there's a place called Great Falls. At Great Falls, the Potomac River descends from the mountains into the tidal zone. Great Falls isn't one sheer waterfall like Niagra. It's a couple of miles of raging whitewater, punctuated by dramatic, rocky cataracts. Maybe about 50 waterfalls all in a row, like Mistress Mary's pretty maids.
I feel like I'm sending The Spare into Great Falls in a leaky boat. Stay with me, folks, to see if she navigates through to the calm tidal waters of Blue Crab Country.
Because someone in the Snobville Class of 2012 ain't gonna do it.
In these cases I guess it helps if you understand Probability Theory. But my ability in math begins and ends with "Shit Happens." I can only hope that the bored gods will intervene just this one time and keep the shit in the crapper.