Our church
does a really cool thing. It runs a
four-year program of daily religious study for high school kids, starting at 6:20 a.m. before their regular class schedule.
And they attend. In droves.
You can
imagine the discipline and commitment it takes. So it’s quite a big deal to get
a four-year pin and a diploma. And right now, in early June, is when they have
Seminary Graduation.
However, the
one thing Seminary cannot do is remove the monkey gene, if your kid has
one. And naturally, my mind goes back
to the graduation ceremony of our son, Cassidy, when he achieved this honor ten
years ago.
First,
picture it. We are all sitting in the
chapel pews, dressed up for the occasion, excited to see him walk up when
his name is called. One by one other
kids go up, receive their diplomas and pins, shake hands with a member of the
Stake Presidency, and march confidently back to their seats.
And then the
speaker opens the next leather-bound diploma, and WITH A STRAIGHT FACE says
into the mike, “Cassidy Thadwell Hilton the third, Junior.”
Are you kidding me? This solemn occasion, the culmination of
four years of hard work, and our kid submits a fake name? And they print it up and let him get away
with it?
Now, mind
you, the speaker knows us. He knows that
if Cassidy is a junior, his father must have the same name, right? But it’s Bob.
And nobody in the history of mankind, I believe, has ever been named “the
third, junior.” Thadwell is also a
contrivance.
There’s some
snickering and I can feel my face reddening as people turn to stare at us. Yet
our monkey boy is on his feet, proudly marching up to receive this bogus
document.
And he's apparently still up to his antics. For one thing, I
keep getting junk mail for “Gustav” Hilton and “Spanky” Hilton. Hey, for all I know he faked his own birth
certificate. I wouldn’t put it past him.
Have
you seen my YouTube Mom videos? This is
what happens after you raise four comedians.
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