As I envision the moment my youngest son walks across the stage to receive his diploma cover from Valdosta High School (the diplomas were to be withheld during the commencement exercises and distributed afterwards pending correct behavior), I can’t help but think of what my late mother would say about the letter that went out to parents outlining how the graduates and their family should dress and behave. 

One of her points of pride was, “I could take my children anywhere,” meaning all four of us would walk a chalk line, sit or stand correctly, no slouching and if we dared to speak, we’d better chosen carefully our words and timing and we would not “bray like a jack-a**.” Parents these days omit my mother’s barn yard terminology and say “indoor” or “outdoor” voice. We were not to bray indoors or out. 

One of the words I heard often in childhood was “appropriate.” 

I’m pretty sure, at nearly 46, I already knew how to behave at commencement exercises, but I will take the admonishments under strong consideration and do my best to exhibit appropriate behavior — sit, stand and applaud at the designated times, keeping in mind that if I don’t, I will be escorted out by a faculty member or security personnel.

Mom might say this is all “plum ridiculous.” Sadly, she lived to see the day appropriate behavioral instruction to adults was necessary. In the early ‘90s, she applauded then Principal Bill Aldrich for stopping her granddaughter’s graduation ceremony and calling security to remove overenthusiastic members of the audience who hooped and hollered outside the prescribed parameters. 

My son would get a huge kick from seeing his mom booted out of his graduation, but I choose in advance not to entertain him in this manner. The Word of God states the saints are all around us and I would not want to hear from the other side of the veil my mother’s stern, “Be-have!” “Be-have” did not include all behavior; it had one meaning — appropriate behavior.

Mom single-handedly won all her parenting battles and she would have nodded approvingly at one I won recently. 

I was pleasantly surprised my son acquiesced to the graduation evening dress code. It was, perhaps, because we’d already had a skirmish on honors night in April. My soon-to-be diploma-cover-receiver was headed out the door barefoot wearing tan dress slacks, white shirt, Sperrys in hand. “You need to wear your dress shoes and a blazer,” I insisted. 

“Better to be a tad overdressed than underdressed,” I replied to his protest that no one else would be dressed that way. (Oh, yes they were!)     

Time was on my side. He was running to the minute. Given more time, he likely would have put up more resistance. As it was he had time only for one more rebuttal, “I’m not interviewing for Harvard!”

No, he wasn’t interviewing for Harvard, but he could have once he donned a tie, blazer and dress shoes so long as he didn’t say anything. 

Earlier last week my baby boy danced in Kohl’s after trying on his graduation britches, black as recommended. My mother, who loved to dance, wouldn’t have approved of grooving in a department store, but generations since have been given hope that they dance, so I smiled instead of glaring.

Black pants, check. Dark shoes and socks, check.  White shirt, check. Dark tie — slight variation, has dark stripes along with gold ones, school colors, hope that will pass muster.

No unnatural hair color, check. (The wild curls can’t be helped and hopefully will not be a distraction.) No facial piercing, check. The letter didn’t mention tattoos. Thank and praise the good Lord the barbwire around my son’s bicep tattoo was a temporary tattoo, something silly he did at the beach. 

I was proud of myself for not overreacting when I first saw it, not knowing at the time it was henna.  I’m sure my eyes widened. My mouth may have dropped, but I did not bray. A thought raced by saying there was nothing I could do about it so I returned to cooking while my boy laughed.

Had it been real, it would be appropriately concealed under the white shirt and the graduation gown. 

If for any reason my son’s diploma is withheld, I will be the proudest mom ever of a high school dropout. He left high school a year early and is one chemistry class shy of being a college sophomore.

Though he wanted to drop out of school in kindergarten, he persevered and was faithful to finish his studies. He would prefer to win the lottery and not finish school or work, but applied himself anyway, was a Georgia Merit Scholar, an honor graduate and current possessor of four A’s and a B his second semester at Valdosta State University. He rubbed elbows with STAR student and salutatorian Chris Hilgert from kickball in K-5 to soccer fields of area high schools. (Congratulations, Chris, on the scholarship to Georgia Tech!)

For one night my sweet boy agreed to abandon his preference for worn out clothes not fit for charitable donation in hopes of getting a diploma to go in the promised diploma cover. (He wore a pair of shorts with a hem missing from one leg to graduation practice. I'm holding my breath his diploma won't be held on that basis.) 

Your dad and I are so proud of you, David. Dad said graduation is a big step in the series of steps you must take in life and he is proud of you for taking this step. He said he’d be proud if you’d simply graduated even without honors.

I hope by the time this is published you’ll have your diploma, but if not, I don’t have to hope you’ll dance.