COLUMN: The Class of 2037

It was a big day. Especially if you were one of the 150 or so 5-year-olds in color-coded T-shirts marching down the aisle of an overflowing Baptist church. Because today was their kindergarten graduation day. 

As a supportive grandparent, I was there – along with the hundreds of other relatives who filled the pews. I looked around, and figured that for many folks, this was their first visit to church since their last child graduated. I’d bet the only time Jesus’ name was invoked in a lot of those homes was when the opposing team scored. I can’t help but believe that our future would look brighter if the pews were this full on Sundays. 

I digress. Today’s event was a to-the-point and simple ceremony, thank goodness. The children filed in and went to their color-coded area, carefully herded by their homeroom teachers as skillfully as any border collie could. A short introduction by the principal, followed by a couple of well-rehearsed songs, and the real program began – the introduction of the graduates. 

As the individual classes came forward, parents and grandparents began jockeying for the best position to take photographs. Where were the border collies when you need them?

Then the ritual began: each child was called by name, stepped to the front and received a smattering of polite applause from the audience. And as you might expect, when some of them walked forward, there were more whoops and woos from the crowd than you would hear at a NASCAR race.

I paid close attention to the names of the children. There were lots of Ethans, Jordans, Jonathans and Brooks. However, I did notice quite a few unusual ones like Paris, Canada, Brooklyn, Denver, even Destin. 

“Why are so many children named after places,” I whispered to my wife. 

She replied, “It’s very trendy now. Some people name their children after the place they were conceived.”

“Well that explains that kid named Camaro,” I said. 

She almost gagged on her sip of water. I smiled – once a comic, always a comic. 

After some brief closing comments, we were dismissed to the lobby. 

“Hey, this is a Baptist church,” I said. “They’re not going to pass the offering plates?”

My wife just frowned and shook her head.

“Oh well, one out of two ain’t bad,” I thought. 

As walked ahead to get the car, I heard a tiny, familiar voice in the lobby yell, “Granddaddy!” I turned to my left, and that’s when I saw her, sitting with her classmates on the floor. It was my granddaughter Addy – the reason I was here. She was waving at me wildly, resplendent in her sky-blue T-shirt, long blonde hair and pink-rimmed glasses. To heck with the car, I walked over to her and grinned like a possum eating briers.

“Sweetie, you were great! You did so good up there!”

“Hold me!” she said, and extended her arms.

Without hesitation, I picked her up – sore back and all. She hugged my neck with every bit of the strength a 5-year-old can muster. I hugged back, kissed the top of her head and cherished this little moment because I knew all too well what would soon happen. Before too much longer, I will become radioactive. Hugging, and even talking to her grandparents, will not be cool. So, making time for moments like this is the most important thing to me because I realize they are indeed fleeting.

As all of us walked to the car together, I glanced back at the church and smiled. No, they didn’t pass the offering plates, but I walked out of there richer than I came in.

Besides, how many folks can say they not only got a front row seat to the Class of 2037, but also got hugged by a blue-shirted bundle of joy? Not a bad graduation day. Not bad at all.

And one day if she ever has a little girl of her own, Brooklyn or Paris will be just fine. I just hope she doesn’t name her Camaro.

Joe Hobby is a barbecue-loving comedian from Alabama who wrote for Jay Leno for many years. Find more of Joe’s stories on his blog: https://mylifeasahobby.blogspot.com. Follow him on Facebook at Joe Hobby Comedian-Writer.