Senior Moments

With each up and coming generation, the previous generation believes that the character and quality of this next generation falls short of what they had achieved.  To investigate such a suspicion, a poll was commissioned to ask incoming college students what they believed.  The simple poll question was asked; "Do you believe a lack of general world knowledge and apathy is a common problem among young people today?"  The answer given, "I don't know, and I don't really care."

End of High School for Grant: May, 26, 2011.
Lots of activities crammed into mid-May to early June to wrap up this phase of life.

The parents were broadly hinting in their questioning in early April, "What about your senior pictures?  Would you like to get some done?"  The answer was; "I don't really care, but I suppose if you want some, maybe I could do that."  The bell rings, the light comes on, ah, yes, still a few more months of parent/child roles to play.  The enlightened parent now says, "We would like to get some senior photos of you, so how about next Saturday?  We will try for a casual pose, a dress-up photo, a graduation pose and maybe something with your tux and cello.  Pack all your clothes and props and be ready at 11:30."

The studio appointment is made and a few changes of clothing are hauled along for the shoot.  We chose Gary, a photographer who Inga enjoyed using for her senior pictures, and a professional who we hoped could get Grant to open his eyes and smile somewhat naturally, unlike the mass grad photo shoot that had Grant in an unnatural sneer for his Yearbook photo.

We selected 3 photos:

As the photo shoot progressed, it turned out it was not as painful and tedious as feared.  Puns were made about taking "cello shots" and the resulting poses after too many "cello shots".

We also discovered, that Gary, the photographer, was a graduate of University of Missouri, Columbia, photo journalism department, coincidentally Grant is enrolled in the Mizzou School of Journalism.  No fellow alum discounts were offered,

On our part, there may be still a need for occasional prodding of the next generation that is currently under our guidance, but all-in-all, I am not worried about the quality or character of the next generation.

Congratulations Son!  You have made us proud.

Any way you slice it...

A scream of horror, mixed with frustration and outrage resounded into the morning suburban air as Sue opened the garage door.  There, in the middle of the driveway, next to her garden was a most hideous sight - a lone, well-ripened tomato sat silently on the concrete.  A victim.  The hapless fruit had been eviscerated.  Its innards pecked out, leaving a hollowed hemisphere of pulpy flesh clinging to the underside of its reddening skin.  The King of the Summer Garden, born of golden blossoms, enthroned upon royally distinctive deep green stems and leaves from whence it lords over all other fruits and vegetables from within Castle Tomato-Cage, the once red and mighty tomato king is now dead.  Sue's first tomato of the season was now only suited to be tossed upon the compost pile like the puny weeds of the realm.

While she was dressing that fateful morning, some bird had swooped into her garden and plucked the very first tomato of the season right off the plant and left its dying and drying in the rising Texas sun.  Scion of The House of Nightshade - we hardly knew ye!

Now, while the tomatoes are mostly green, with just a blush of red, they are picked and brought into the kitchen, where they are ripened in brown paper bags on the counter and checked frequently for readiness.  At last, when Sue can wait no longer, I am summoned into the kitchen: "Here, smell this!" is the command as she embeds the tomato into my mustache.  I inhale heartily and yes, it is the smell of summer.  A ripe, firm tomato from her own garden!  We marvel and sing its praises as we joyfully fall into the traditional Suneson Dance of First Fruits around the kitchen.  Of course, with its bold aroma and pungent taste far superior to the store-bought varieties, the First Tomato is not to be adulterated with any other food combinations that would detract form its solitary wonderfulness, such as a topping for a burger or used in a stew.  No, the First Tomato is to be sliced and eaten in all of its glory, savored in noble isolation.  And so it was.

Now that the assassins have been thwarted, any way you slice it, gota love those home-grown 'maters!

Long live the Tomato - King of the Summer Garden

Another Cheesy Mother's Day

Picnic Supplies arrive for an evening meal in Breckenridge Park

Yes, another cheesy Mother's Day.  Once Grant awoke after being up late with his Senior Prom, it was time to celebrate Mother's Day in the Suneson traditional manner, a picnic featuring exotic cheeses.

In year's past we have picnicked in Japanese Gardens in Fort Worth, rolling grassland preserves in Collin County, urban Dallas' White Rock Lake and various parks around the greater Metroplex; but this time around Mother selected the easy 3-mile drive to Breckenridge Park for an evening out-of-doors meal.

The basic foodstuffs are tradition, but each year the variety varies.  The basket is packed with 8 or 9 exotic cheeses, some lunch meats, fruit, crackers, bread, dessert and ginger beer with a few other bottles of exotic flavors.  This year's basket contained smoked Gouda, Point Reyes blue, Dill Havarti, Irish aged white cheddar, blue marble cheddar, an Italian hard cheese among others, red wine salami, fresh strawberries, Key Lime Soda and Australian Peachy drinks to go with the Ginger Beer, raspberry and mint filled Ghiradeli dark chocolate candies.

Afterward we drove to lowland nature preserve and wandered around in the evening light.  The trail was marked by plentiful signs warning that this was "Venomous Snake Habitat - Stay on the Trail!".  I thought this was either overly dramatic language or County lawyer's CYA hyperbole.  But dang!  If we did not encounter two very small Water Moccasins (Cotton Mouths) warming themselves at the edge of the trail.  We said our howdies and moved on, leaving them in peace to return to their loving mother waiting for them in the tall grass.

Fangs alot Mom!

Prom #2 - With a Real Fox Network

Grant, having proclaimed he had had "the real prom experience" while escorting Miss Fox to her High School Prom, was now going to use a different strategy for his own Garland High Prom night. He was basically going stag, while hanging with an entourage composed of a loosely knit group of young ladies and young men, gathering for pre-Prom festivities at Michele's house. 

The Dallas Morning News featured a guest columnist that very Saturday, a local high school girl who detailed the complexities and anxiety of selecting a unique prom dress and a gazillion other things that girls worry about.  From all appearances, Grant was not so afflicted by a gazillion or even half-a-jillion such things.  However, he had decided that he'd like a red shirt to go with his suit, so he left the house around noon to go buy a red shirt to complete his ensemble for that afternoon and evening.  He returned from the haberdashery hunt with a successful find, and I suggested we wash the new shirt to get the creases out before wearing it.  Again, old-man wisdom prevailed and we put a medium sized load of color laundry through the wash and drier.  No ironing necessary he insisted, so the new shirt was ready a full 18 minutes before he went out the door.

The pre-Prom party group would leave Michele's house, carpooling to the Palladium in South Dallas.  The Prom Committee had chosen a circus theme and had hired stilt-walking clowns, acrobats and aerial artists to perform around and above party-goers.  Grant allowed as he had spent most of the evening around the gaming tables.  Each Senior was given 5,000 points of "house money" along with their tickets, and Grant was able to parlay his initial stake into 47,000 points at the poker table.  He was then able to use his points toward drawings for various merchandise.  He came home with a new 20" flat-screen TV.  Winning! Yeah.

It took his car of guys about an hour to find their way out of South Dallas, and by the time they met up with the ladies, the ladies were not sure what they wanted to do for the rest of the night.  With indecision prevailing amongst the larger entourage, several of the guys thought it was time for a late-night visit to the local IHOP.

The plan suited the guys so well, that they have decided to make Saturday night a night of late movies and IHOP a regular thing.  I am glad to see him out having a good time with good friends and not spending too much time in front of a 20" flat screen TV.

Ready for Senior Prom - With Eyes Wide Shut

Prom #1 with a Real Fox

Back in the old days...Just after the earth had cooled.
When I was in High School, Yugoslavia still had a seat in the United  Nations.
And in those days of yore it was not uncommon to have a "pen-pal", that is someone from a different country with whom you corresponded.  As ridiculous as it now seems, people (even high school students) took the time to actually compose a letter on a piece of paper with a pen, and once finished writing, would then sealed the letter in an envelope and then air mail it to a person in a different country.  This form of communication could take weeks.

Carla Zupanovich, a classmate of mine, had some shirt-tail relatives in old Yugoslavia who wanted a chance to improve their English reading and writing skills.  So Miss Z became pen-pals with a second cousin back in the old country.  Miss Z, apparently filled her letters with much juicy gossip from the hot social scene at Madera High.  She intimately reported that in her algebra class "there were lots of real foxes!!!!!" [I think this is how high school girls write?????]

Of course, Miss Z's sighting of "real foxes", did not mean "real foxes", but "real foxes" as a term for some cute male classmates [No, I was not even in her league].  But when the old country cousin translated the letter from America, she understood real fox to mean a real fox, in fact several real foxes!!!!!  The Yugoslav relative wrote back and inquired about the American educational system, where quadratic equations were held in such close proximity to wild animals.  If in fact real foxes were allowed into school, she expressed concern that "reading algebra with a real fox, is not that very dangerous?"

Only in America --
Would you like your variable in a box?
Would you like it with a fox?  -- Dr. Seuss



Grant was invited by the lovely Miss Kerrie Fox to attend her Prom  [See Prom Prom; April, 2011]. Grant and Kerrie are in the same church youth group, but attend different High Schools.  This was to be Senior Prom #1 (last week April 30).  I don't know how much dancing goes on at Prom, but I do know that parents have to do a lot of fancy dancing while trying to impart wisdom to our son without seeming as if we are running his life and forcing him into decisions.  For example; eight days before the event, a dinner table discussion was attempted by Mom;
"Have you thought about a flower corsage for Kerrie? 
Do you know what color dress she will be wearing? 
Maybe you can talk to your sister and find out what would be good..."
With 3 questions/suggestions in a row.  It was too much.  Grant abruptly cleared his plate from the table and went and sat in front of the computer.

A few days later, Grant and I met after school and went to the florist to pick out a rose wrist corsage with ribbon to match Kerrie's green dress.  Grant told the florist, "As far as my fashion sense goes, I know jeans go with T-shirts, after that I am lost."  I think between the two of us we did fine.  The next challenge was dressing Grant.  He needed a necktie to go with his pinstripe suit and mint green shirt.  I pulled 3 choices from my trove of seldom used neck-wear.  Grant sent photos via his phone to his sister in Oregon, showing each of the 3 ties matched with his shirt .  Inga told him to wear the solid black silk necktie.

On Thursday night before the Prom, there was a dinner at the Fox family house to plan out Saturday's events and timetable.  Grant was to provide the bread.  After school he stopped at the grocer's and bought a tube of "bam biscuits", followed the cooking directions and confidently left the house for his dinner engagement with a basket of hot, fresh baked bread.  He returned in a very upbeat mood with an empty bread basket, saying all the kids at dinner were "cool", though he knew only the two Fox sisters.  His baking skills were suitably admired by the ladies.

Prior to his invitation to the Berkner High Prom, the limo had already been arranged, so he was off the hook for that touch of class.  On Saturday, I loaded him with cash and off he went in pinstripes and black tie to escort Miss Fox for a grand evening.  They formed a party of 10, five ladies from Berkner High escorted by young men - none of which were students at Berkner.  I am not sure what this says about Berkner High and its population of senior males.  Dinner reservations were for a table of ten at Benihana's, followed by the Prom at the Sheraton Hotel Ballroom in Las Colinas (on the west side of Dallas).

The dog barked from our bedroom at 1 AM as Grant returned, thumped upstairs and then down again, rummaged in the laundry closet and then continued rushing about the house in the wee hours.  I got out of bed and asked about the need for all this noise.  He was looking for his bathing suit.  Neither of us could find it, So he decide he'd swim in a pair of basketball shorts.  With that solved, it was off into the night once again.  I made no jokes about skinny dipping. Nor did I joke about my definition of a successful Prom Night - A night when No life was destroyed and No life was created.

He can now claim that he attended Senior Prom with a real Fox.  In Yugoslavia they may think to ask, "Is not dancing with a real fox very dangerous?" 
Grant returned at 3 AM, he has since been mum on any real details, so I do not know how dangerous it was to spent the night with Kerrie Fox, a real fox.  But if I had to guess, I would guess that it all went pretty well, Grant handling any dangerous situation with aplomb.  I'd say attending Senior Prom with a Fox is way better than going with a hound.

[At Grant's request - No photo session is to be made public.  But you can get a glimpse by digging into this blog's archive: "Home Coming", November, 2010]