Sunday May 22, the day after the world didn’t end, the rapture didn’t happen. (Too, bad, a friend of my son posted on Facebook. The rest of us could have gotten universal health care and gay-marriage legislation passed pretty quickly and made the world a better place.)
My son graduates tomorrow, so I’m here, a brief break from New York.
Yesterday afternoon, a reception for graduating seniors and their families in a big tent in the center of campus. Later that evening, a concert of student vocal groups.
My son, Pete, is in the G Tones, an a capella (unaccompanied) group. (“My transformation into Andy Bernard is almost complete!”) They finished the show. He had a big solo, busted loose. Fabulous.
I sat in the lovely old chapel, listening to and watching these beautiful, tired, relieved, happy kids make their music, some polished, some losing all sense of pitch. All performed with enthusiasm. My daughter next to me, her mother next to her. Parents and grandparents and siblings all over the place. We soaked in their joy in making music and our own at having it made for us. These great kids, after all they’ve been through in finals week, celebrating it all by putting on a concert.
It doesn’t get any better than this, I thought. This is heaven. Maybe the rapture happened after all, and I was “taken.”
If so, God really knows what she’s doing. Thanks.