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I had done pretty well, myself. I wasn't happy with my final grades because I thought I could have done better in one of my courses, but I did very well in my other courses. Cathy, however, quickly went from looking at her grades to breaking out in hysterics. I could only imagine what she was looking at, and what she was thinking.I ran over to her. I knew it had to be bad, but I didn't know how bad it was.I put my arm around her shoulder when I approached her. She looked up at me, and then burst out in a new waterfall of tears. She handed me her final report card. It really didn't surprise me what it said. After all, she had spent most of the semester partying and being sociable. I honestly didn't know if she had even attended a class. (I wasn't in her classes, so I had no way to know that.) But a collection of Fs on her card said all they needed to say."Bryan, Mom and Dad are gonna kill me! What am I gonna do now?" she cried.I sensed that being a friend was not really. His perfect black tuxedo and white blouse, cummerbund, bow tie and the white rose attached to his lapel performed their stately duty.Extending the exchange of vows to make it worthy of the spectacle, both the King and Bess recited poetic sentiments of eternal love--the King's crafted by an old poet friend from his days at Harvard. Bess spoke the memorized words of my son Benjamin who had written a love poem to Melissa. He sent a draft to Devi who thrillingly recited them to me in our marital bed and gave it to Bess. The simplicity and avoidance of ripe sentimentality along with its surprising and even amusing rhymes in the classic sonnet structure impressed us all. Unaware of my son's talent made me feel even more inadequate as a father.Greeting my son as he emerged from the gate at JFK, though pleased to see me, I realized my hug delayed his hugging Bess and especially Devi and he made quick work of it. Bess he hugged longer and Devi's hug lasted long enough for whispers to be.
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