A season of lasts with more firsts to come

So this has been a season of lasts.

There was the last band concert and the last choir concert. We saw the last track meet. Although I’m not going to miss sitting for hours in the wind and the cold.

And there was the last day of high school for our younger daughter Ella, who will walk across the stage today and receive a genuine Linn-Mar-High School diploma.

Yes, that’s right, Linn-Mar, the name that has lived in infamy on the lips of our governor, members of Congress, state lawmakers and even former Vice President Mike Pence. The district tried to support and protect its transgender students and has reaped a whirlwind of hot air from politicians determined to make it ground zero in the culture war.

But all we know is Ella received an outstanding education from a long line of teachers and staff too numerous to name for fear I might forget someone. A lot of kids will graduate today who are smart, kind and supportive of each other, and it’s a reflection of the families they came from and the schools they attended.

Ella, for example, had the opportunity to participate in an amazing music program full of dedicated professionals. She qualified for the All-State band and performed with 10th Street Edition, a fantastic, hardworking show choir that won Show Choir Nationals in Nashville. She was co-captain of her cross-country team, although an injury marred her season.

That’s what I call going out with a bang, or maybe a blast from her euphonium.

Her class includes a U.S. Presidential Scholar and her classmates are headed to colleges, universities and training programs all over the country. Like our daughter, we have no doubt they have been well-prepared for what’s next.

That can be said about public schools across Iowa. These graduates are the real story pf public education. Pence should drop by the ceremonies.

But, honestly, we haven’t had much time to reflect on all theses lasts and her accomplishments. That’s because I had a very bad idea.

Let’s have the graduation party at our house, I said. It will be simpler, I thought. Might even save a buck or two, I hoped.

But then came the new carpet and gallons of paint. And all the flowers, potting soil and mulch. The garage had to be emptied and power washed. Many an artifact I deemed precious went on the heap for the garbage guys to collect. But I’ve been meaning to fix that stuff, really.

What I forgot when I had my bad idea is that if someone made a movie about our house, it would be called “Deferred Maintenance.” We’ve been here going on 16 years, and one-of-these-days projects have piled up. This graduation affair forced our hand. Let’s do them all in a month.

My wife has been the driving force behind all these preparations. She took this past week off. I could not. I’m actually typing this when I really should be helping in some way. Excuse the typos because I’m writing as fast as I can.

Although this is our second gradation, it is our first graduation shindig. My older daughter, Tess, was a member of the ill-fated but resilient Class of 2020. Thanks to the pandemic, her last day in high school was in March. Her class graduated in masked groups of five over three days. A few friends and neighbors gathered in our front yard, but that was about it.

Now my younger daughter, an extroverted social butterfly (Is she really my kid?) has invited a cast of hundreds. I’m exaggerating, but not as much as you’d think.

I figured I’d smoke a couple of pork butts for sandwiches. Now I’ll need a squadron of butts and a battalion of grills. Yes, please deliver buns by the metric ton. Like Gen. Custer, I’m cautiously optimistic.

But by the time darkness falls tomorrow night, our first and last high school graduation party will be in the books. It will not be perfect, but what is, really? Maybe we’ll catch our breaths and reflect on the moment.

Then we will pivot back to more firsts. Furnishing Ella’s first dorm room. Her first move to campus. Her first day of classes. And our first day as empty nesters.

Which reminds me, I really need to get out there and help.

(319) 398-8262; todd.dorman@thegazette.com