My son Ethan just graduated from college. I’m immensely proud of him, though I’ve been that since the nurse at St. Luke’s Hospital handed him to me, wrapped in a soft blanket and sporting the hair of Mitt Romney (it later turned blonde).

I must say I love weddings and graduations. Weddings rarely fail to raise both a tear from my eye from the sheer beauty of hopeful love and exciting potential, and a bellylaugh from some hilarious product of nervousness, excessive worrying or the antics of some crazily eccentric relative.

And even though this country does graduations terribly–long, schmaltzy speeches and glacially-paced proceedings, you get to look into the faces of graduates and see something rare: pure, unadulterated hope and excitement.

Ethan’s graduation was better than most. Skies that threatened rain but never delivered seemed to encourage most of the speakers to speed up their delivery, and it seemed like no time before we were hoisting glasses at a celebratory dinner.

So, here’s to my son, you may occasionally think wistfully of those days of epic parties, fraternal brotherhood, late nights, later mornings, beer pong and flip-flops, but I assure you you’re going to find the real world much more cool.

Just don’t be late for work.

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