kind & generous

Moving On, May 2024

When the now 22-year-old graduated from high school, in June, 2020, it was right around the time the fear of Covid-19 was hitting its initial zenith.  For the “ceremony,” they had all of the grads line up outside, instructed them to keep some distance between each other (though they were also masked), and then had them walk across the baseball field, pick up their diploma, and walk up some stairs to meet parents and families in the adjacent parking lot, where we were allowed to watch from our cars, or sitting on our cars, as long as we kept to ourselves and didn’t approach others.  That was it.  No congregating with friends, no fun dinner out, no big grad night festivities.  It was not much of a celebration.

Needless to say, when heading to Fort Worth two weeks ago, to watch her graduate from TCU, I was expecting something a bit more celebratory, a bit more meaningful, a bit more poignant . . . and yes, a bit more emotional.  I was not disappointed.  That school – and those students – know how to celebrate.

The ceremony was perfectly executed, with the requisite “Pomp and Circumstance,” yelling and whistling from parents and families, a few noticeable tears, plenty of waves and beaming smiles from graduates, and a Chancellor who gave the formal remarks and who could also likely take his show on the road and have a successful additional career as a comedian (seriously, he was that good).  It was a great day and celebration, enhanced by the family of one of Emma’s friends renting out a room at a local brewery for a festive afternoon event, followed by even more festiveness at a graduation dinner that evening. 

The four-year wait for a proper graduation celebration was definitely worth it, and we genuinely enjoyed every single moment of the weekend.  I didn’t even mind having to rent a SUV and make a solo 25-hour drive to transport the girl’s belongings, due to a late decision to attend law school back in the Bay Area.  Everything had come together quite nicely.

Talking to the now recent college grad, and subsequent to shedding a few tears after leaving her apartment, many close friends, and a community she had come to love, it dawned on me that she was experiencing something on an intense, and deeply emotional, level.  As great as this accomplishment was, and as much as there was to celebrate after four years of hard work, she was feeling an emptiness and a loss . . . of leaving so much behind, particularly the shared experience, and bonds and friendships, that had formed what had become the most meaningful part of her young life.  Along with the great celebration, there was a great void.

I knew exactly how she felt.

It all came rushing back to me . . . over 30 years had passed, but I’ll never forget what it felt like to drive away from the CMC campus after graduating that warm May afternoon.  Thankful to have completed such a long and difficult journey, and to have enjoyed such a great celebration, along with the hope and excitement about what was to come in the future . . . but with a great emptiness and void, too.  Leaving so much behind, so many good people, so many strong bonds, so many triumphs, failures, and learning experiences . . . so much “growing up.”  It was a strangely odd, difficult experience . . . feeling forlorn while knowing something great lie ahead.

These many, MANY, years later, I now have the gift of quite a bit more experience and perspective, and the even greater gift of maintaining strong bonds with some of the best friends one would be lucky to find in an entire lifetime.  I also have the added gift of that many more years of continuing to celebrate with my CMC classmates, sharing and enjoying so many beautiful life moments around successes . . . and challenges . . .  and families . . . and wonderful reunions.  All these years later, reflecting on how it felt to leave CMC that day, and experiencing so many emotions and feelings, and the poignancy of them, it all makes much better sense now.

So, as I talk to my daughter, the recent TCU graduate, knowing what she is going through and experiencing emotionally, I tell her with honesty and conviction, “Don’t worry, kiddo, it’s going to get better . . . . actually, you know what?  It’s going to be great.”

Reunion Weekend, May 2022

“What’s up with the Class of ’91?!”
I laughed and slapped my new friend from ’72 on the shoulder, as he posed his question and shook his head incredulously.  I had just come from getting our class picture taken, and everyone was marveling at how many ‘91 alumni had not only shown up for the picture – thus causing a degree of concern over the photo risers collapsing – but had reconvened on campus for Reunion Weekend.  Of course, the collective laughter, and shouting at our classmates to speed up their saunter down the path between Phillips Hall and Parents Field, may have also caused a few onlookers to come closer and see what all the excitement was about.

It wasn’t the first time I had heard such a sentiment.  At the Friday night wine tasting, a class of ‘90 alum mentioned how few had shown up from his class compared to ours.  “Yeah, we always seem to make a good showing at these things . . . “ I replied a bit sheepishly (but secretly with great pride – LOL). 

It was true.  Having attended all of our reunions, I can say that each time the next five-year milestone had rolled around, our year seemed to make a pretty good showing.  So what, indeed, is up with the Class of ‘91?

I have felt for some time that there is a special character to our class, my perception influenced by anecdotes shared by faculty and staff, as well as by classmates and other alumni.  Something that struck me this past weekend was how many people I have actually gotten to know better since we graduated . . . having not really known some cohorts that well, if at all, when students, but, through reunions and the ongoing fostering of community and common celebrations, having become friends over the years.

Something else that struck me is that everyone with a “’91” on their name badge seemed to genuinely enjoy being around one another.  I can’t recall how many times I noticed smallish groups morphing as classmates moved around to talk to others.  One table of ’91 alums at Saturday’s lunch took on various formations: some got up to let others sit down, while others lurked nearby, talking and greeting all those making their way up the path toward pretzels, ice cream, and, of course, beer.  At times, I wondered how it was possible that I could laugh so hard with someone I hadn’t seen in years . . . or someone I didn’t even really know back in the day? What sort of sorcery was going on . . . ?

Another fun realization from this past weekend was that work/career seemed to take a back seat in conversation . . . in fact, it rarely came up.  Mostly, engaging others was about how they were doing, where they were living, and what their kids were up to, including where they might attend college . . . Ack! How did that happen?!  We even laughed over the trouble that our kids were getting into, sometimes recalling our own adventures and mishaps.  It seemed that everyone was just interested in connecting . . . even if a common theme was our newfound medical issues.  My spirits were buoyed by the fact that there were others who appreciated a little break – ahem, nap time – before coming back to campus for the evening festivities.

Being back under the big tent on Saturday night, and looking around at everyone and the many tables needed to accommodate our class, I felt a great sense of pride and gratitude, and of admiration and love, for the people and the school that had brought all of us together in celebration.  There was, and is, so much to be thankful for . . . all of the memories – new and old – of the good CMCers who have become an important component of our lives, of the shared community and tradition, of collectively being part of a wonderful group . . . I felt very lucky and thankful as I looked around that night . . . and continue to feel blessed, now back home and reflecting on the weekend a few days later.

If you’re like me, you might have a few regrets, or wish you had done something differently while at CMC.  You might have taken different classes, chosen a different thesis advisor, or maybe even a different major.  You might have studied a bit more, spent more time at the library and less at The Hub (or vice versa!), or maybe you were one of those who hit every station at the Death Row party and always regretted it.  Maybe you never stopped wondering what happened to that cute girl or guy you didn’t have the guts to approach . . . or if you should have stripped down to your undies and joined your dorm-mates as they raced to the fountain that one night during a study break.  Maybe you wished you had experienced more late nights, talking to those friends who shared wisdom on life, love, and the future . . . there may be no shortage of “maybes” or “what ifs” among this crew . . .

But . . .  if you are indeed like me, you have never – for one second, ever – regretted the fact that you chose Claremont McKenna College.

I have attended each of the reunions because I am proud to have some sort of affiliation to CMC . . . and because I cherish the friendships, new and old . . . and because I am reminded of what it is to be part of something special, to enjoy meeting new people from other classes and the larger CMC community . . . and, maybe most importantly, to be part of something that seems to just keep getting better.  A little older, a few more grey hairs, a few more aches and pains . . . but more celebrations, more memories being formed, and even more appreciation, admiration and love for the people and, yes, even the institution.

Leaving campus for the final time last weekend, I exited the Monte Carlo party at McKenna Auditorium, said a quick goodbye to friends, and the ever-present John Faranda, walked past the fountain . . . and on a cool Claremont evening, approached the sign in the image above.  It gave me a little chill, and a feeling of something unexpectedly poignant, of leaving but still longing, of loss and of gain, of thanks for what is, and wondering what could have been or could still be, and most importantly, a very real sense of pride and gratitude.

So . . . “What’s up with the Class of ’91 . . . ?” 

I suppose “what’s up” is everything. The good and the bad . . . the tears, laughter, and fun . . . the adventures and mishaps . . . the memories of subpar grades or academic victories, late night food runs and getting “ponded,” fancy dinners at the Ath, Five-college parties, and steak tickets on Sunday night . . . too many stories, tales, and traditions to relive in one weekend . . . but most of all, a great community of people, of friends and classmates, who keep coming back every five years, and keep convening for no other reason than simply to celebrate and enjoy being together. 

I couldn’t imagine it any other way, and I couldn’t imagine anything better. 

Thank you CMC Class of ’91.