Ruthie Doing Ruthie Stuff

The day was overcast and drizzly in the Sunken Garden, Thousands of white chairs set up in a fan-shape that stretched for, what looked like, a tenth of a mile. I was improperly dressed for the occasion of my daughter’s graduation, having accidentally left my favorite sport in a hotel in White Plains, NY the night before. To fend off the chill, I wore the sweatshirt I’d purchased at JFK airport two days earlier while trying to escape from New York, as detailed in this post.

I figured it didn’t matter what I wore since this day wasn’t about me even a little bit. It was about our daughter, Ruthie, a summa cum laude graduate in Screenwriting at the gorgeous Loyola Marymount University in Los Angeles. I rarely discuss my kids in these pages because I do not have their consent to do so, but every now and again I make an exception, such as when I am heaping praise on them.

Ruthie’s phone case reads “I’m Ruthie doing Ruthie stuff,” which is a better description of her than I will be able to produce in 1,000 words. She’s smart, talented, very funny, hard-working, and generous with her friendship. There’s no way to express a parent’s love and pride for their kids, so I’m not going to bother trying. Plus, doing so makes you look like one of “those parents,” and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be one of them. Just know that my kids are, objectively speaking, the best. Don’t believe me? Check out the national rankings – they’re right at the top.

The graduation, like all graduations, was interminable. Had I not been freezing, I wouldn’t have minded, but I was freezing and very much did mind. Questlove gave a lovely commencement speech about impostor syndrome, a topic about which I am all-too-familiar. His words were wise and useful and applicable for everybody who is, unlike myself, not an actual impostor. For impostors like myself, his advice was useless.

Ruthie and her roommates organized a big party at their little rental house. Hard seltzer! Taco truck! Mini decorative pinatas! A huge improvement from the previous week when their sewage pipe burst, sending college senior turds rolling into their neighbor’s yard. The health department was called, a plumbing team dispatched, and all turds removed from the premises

Gorgeous family. Just gorgeous.

It was a lovely fete. I met many of my daughter’s roomies’ parents, all of whom were just as proud of their daughters as me, although if you check the national rankings, you will see all of them are lower-ranked than my kids so I don’t know what the hell they were so proud about.

I spent much of the party catching up with “Grandma Sandy” and her daughter Betsy, my sort-of stepsister. Sandy was my mom’s partner for 19 years before my mom died. Betsy is her daughter, around my age, and a fun hang. They drove up from San Diego for the event. Mom and Sandy got together when I was already well into adulthood, so I didn’t grow up with them, but I consider them family. Like many families, we don’t get to see each other as often as we would like, so it was great spending the afternoon catching up with my mishpacha.

Any parent hopes for days like we had yesterday. Our second, and last, child graduating from college. Free tacos. A Matthew Modine spotting. Perfect. These are good kids. I don’t just mean those graduating from LMU yesterday. I mean this generation.

There’s is the first generation to grow up entirely in the “After Times,” as I’ve lately come to think of it. There is before 9/11 and after. All of us who had grown up in the Before Times immediately understood the import of that moment as it unfolded, but I don’t think anybody realized how long its shockwave would reverberate. The mighty US took a shot to the chin and wobbled.

We’ve been wobbling ever since.

These kids have lived with the repercussions of that moment: the endless wars both extrinsic and intrinsic, the xenophobia and hatred, the panic, and, of course, the election of an unqualified loser, twice, to lead us through our national unscheduled disassembly.

For all of that, the kids I know from this generation are kind, empathetic, and desirous to do good for a world that hasn’t done much good by them. I’m not a fan of broad generalizations, but I would caution those constantly badmouthing this generation of kids to maybe go a little easy on them. They’re doing better than we would have, given the circumstances.

The NYC sweatshirt went on and off during the party as the sun played hide-and-seek. I’ve been running hot and cold for months now, anyway, furious one moment, disengaged the next. I don’t know how it is that this is the world we’re bestowing on the next generation, but I suppose that refrain has probably been echoed from century to century. Somehow we persevere, and, somehow, we invent novel ways to make things worse.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, yesterday gave me hope. These kids have their work cut out for them. They’re not going to fix everything, but maybe they’ll make some progress. Maybe they’ll help this nation regain its footing. I hope so. And the fact that I continue to have hope – not only for them but because of them – is all the excuse I need to do what I can to make their work a little bit easier. To all the Ruthies out there doing Ruthie stuff, thank you.