let’s party

An organized mess lies atop the built-in credenza behind our long light wooden dining table. This is operation central for planning Micah’s graduation open house celebration. At full chaos, there were piles of graduation announcements and white envelopes, a large notebook filled with lists, post-it notes, my black calendar book, a couple packages of two-sided tape, an address stamp, and two kinds of postage stamps: Betty White in a purple blouse and wavy American flags.

But the clutter has since dwindled. Last week, I mailed (or had Micah distribute) most of the announcements to various teachers, paraprofessionals, nurses, therapists, friends, neighbors, and family—those who have helped him, cared for him, and taught him–those who have enjoyed connecting with him in some way.

Except for a few small piles, all that remains is a long gallery of Micah’s school pictures–thirteen of them propped against the wall—his chubby-cheeked, smiley, squinty-eyed kindergarten picture all the way through his junior year with his signature wide smile, blue-colored braces still on. At the end of the line-up is an 8×10 inch black-framed senior picture of Micah leaning against a wooden post in a red and white striped rugby shirt and blue jeans. 

It’s been fun having his developmental journey visible at a glance: glasses in the first grade, first tooth lost in the second grade, longer hair (“please Mom?”) in the sixth grade, braces in 10^th grade, handsome, tall, and confident, with braces off, as a senior. Perhaps I’ll display them on a picture board like the others I created that include snapshots of Micah in theater productions and talent shows, posing with teachers, paras, and friends—a trip down memory lane reflecting much of what was important to our son during these last thirteen years.

But now I must turn my attention to the the rest of the planning–mainly the food and other logistics. It is, as so many of us moms know, a lot of work.

When I graduated from high school way back in 1983, my mother, who had a passion for cooking and menu-planning, hired a local caterer who offered something called “sandwich loaf.” It involved layers of different kinds of spreads or salads (think ham or egg) inside a loaf of bread. I was skeptical but then pleasantly and thankfully surprised—it was delicious–believe it or not! From another caterer, she ordered a cake accompanied by petits fours (tiny bite-sized square cakes). They were amazing, especially the frosting! I certainly don’t remember any of my friends having this type of fare. But then again, we didn’t attend each other’s open houses because most of them were held at the same time–in the evening immediately after our commencement ceremony.

Micah can rest easy—we certainly won’t be serving sandwich loaf (although he’d probably love it!). Instead, Todd and I have been cooking pork shoulder roasts in our smoker the last few weekends, pulling each one apart, and freezing them in large tin foil pans. Of course, there will be cake– spiderman-themed cupcakes (it wouldn’t be right not to include Micah’s favorite superhero).

Back in the early 80s, most of the open houses were inside a family’s home–not in the garage (as ours will be) or some other venue which seems to be the norm these days. In my mind’s eye, I can still see the deep crystal punch bowl which mom set on the credenza lining the wall that led into our kitchen. I was stationed there in my cornflower blue dress at the top of a short flight of orange-carpeted steps to greet everyone who arrived with a smile, a thank you, and a glass of punch which, if I remember correctly, was a golden citrus flavor. Guests were then directed into the kitchen where party food was arranged on the counter—they brought their plates, punch, and/or coffee into the living room and sat on the sofas and chairs and visited.

I don’t know if all graduation open houses were like this back then. Perhaps it was just the way it was in small towns like the one I grew up in. But what I do know is that I can remember that day with fondness, of people coming together to wish me well, to congratulate me, to share with me in my happiness and excitement for the future.

It is what I want for Micah—a celebration that he will remember–the environment, the food, capturing this special day with pictures of him and his friends and other special people in his life. I want it to be a day that will remind him that God has put so many good people in his life and they will all be here together to spur him on, to set him forth on the next chapter of his life–to encourage him that all will be well.

“Mom, I want to give a toast at my party.” Micah announced not long ago.

“Well of course you can, buddy.” I had to smile, recalling many impromptu “Micah speeches” at family events. “I’d expect nothing less from you.”