Here we are...

Just off the Port Bow—a place of uncertainty, adventure, and insight. Thank you for your ears, eyes and hearts. I hope to bring compassion, grace and beauty to your day.

Whoop it up!

I attended the high school graduation of a nephew this past weekend. He has done an amazing job in his course work and secured a nice scholarship to an engineering school. I couldn't be prouder.

The graduation was held in a college gymnasium, a space large enough to accommodate the 400 or so graduates and their families/fans. With that many names to read the ceremony was largely restricted in terms of speeches and fluff. The focus was on the individual senior walking across the stage to receive their diploma. (I think five or six different faculty readers were employed for this effort.)

As the walking began the Principal urged the audience to consider the dignity of the moment and the need for every student's name to be heard. Then the first name was read, and the whooping began.

This is the culture in which we live. I need to stop fighting it.

There were vocal whoops, Instagram whoops, Twitter whoops, and many other varieties of whoop! filling the air and air-waves of that gymnasium. With four hundred seniors being whooped in concert there must have been thousands of "likes" recorded in the course of the affair.

I am not a whooper. I suppose that I was once. In the past one was told to suppress and manage one's whoops. Save it for summer camp, or a jump off the high dive at the swimming pool.

Whoops today are the common currency of social intercourse. I have yet to hear one in the check out line at the market, but I can feel it coming.

In the best sense I want to place whoopism in the context of the healthy emotional release permitted and encouraged by Mr. Keating in Dead Poet's Society. Unnecessary repression pricked, with no guarantee of outcome.

I might even try to exercise my own whoops in the safety of our back yard, where no one can hear, though it goes against the grain.

My fear is that I will find myself on the set of Lord of the Flies, instead of Mr. Keating's classroom. This suggests something about my aversion to risk and violence, which is another matter altogether.

A last word for my nephew. Well done! Whoop it up!

Thursday Images

Thursday Images

In and Around - Low Tide on Sanibel

In and Around - Low Tide on Sanibel