varying degrees of light

My mom and I realized earlier today that all the kids of the family, all three of her sons, are done being students. (And for the moment, please disregard that all three of us are enormously likely to pursue higher education; that's another good thought, but it detracts from this one.) I'm sitting in a hotel room outside of Chicago. We're on our way back from Grand Rapids and Paul's graduating from Calvin Seminary. Between that and my graduating from Dordt a week ago (it seems like it happened the day before), the family went through a gauntlet of social graces and the more festive side on the spectrum of emotions. We enjoy being with people--our friends of various capacities--but there have been more and more moments lately where we'd look at each other while preparing for the next activity and you could see in our eyes and slumped shoulders that we just want to sit down and pass the day together. I guess that's why we're in a hotel instead of staying with friends as we did on our way in. We want to continue our lives: Dad has faculty meetings to attend, Mom has the girls to take care of, Paul has two interviews in the next week or so, David has, and has had, work, and I have documents to fill out, introductory essays to write, and summer jobs to pursue. One more day to be under the same roof, please but no obligations--socially, or otherwise--this time. No? We concede; life intervenes and carries on.

Just a few minutes ago, I physically strained to hold in my laughter because I was reading Shit My Dad Says. My abs hurt. They shot a pilot with William Shatner playing, I assume, the dad and I'm astounded that they didn't get Alan Arkin to do it. Not that he needs the work, but that I heard his voice as I read these lines--Alan Arkin's and my own father's, but that would be too hilarious. Anyway, the pilot got picked up and I sincerely hope Shatner does well, but I can't imagine him saying "fuck" and "shit" without a huge, dopey grin on his face.