About to turn 19, this girl/woman ~
graduated Metro Nashville Public School system yesterday. And she did so to the beat of a different drummer. The same drum beat into which she entered this world. A very different, odd, quirky, funky beat.
And, in Classic Grace....Well, let me back back up a bit....The Valedictorian and Salutatorian of Hillsboro High School, together, gave a very different kind of speech. One unlike I'd ever heard delivered by a school's highest-achieving scholars. In cahoots with the speakers, the beloved teaching faculty stood up on cue and threw, first: candy; then party hats, (which some soon-to-be graduates donned and proceeded to wear through the ceremony atop their mortar boards,) and then...beach balls.
Well, Grace never met a ball she did not like and then subsequently destroy. (Basketballs are the only variety I have known her autism-bionic strength not able to destroy. I'm serious. Trust me.) Luckily, she didn't pop, bite and subsequently deflate any beach balls. Instead, just as she was to stand with her row, she spotted a tiny piece of candy beneath the chair before her. (Grace also never met any variety of food--excepting eggs--she did not immediately consume regardless of where it was found.) To the rescue, her ever-extraordinary teacher, sitting one seat, an aisle away, quickly redirected her, got her to rise and follow her seatmate in the march toward the stage. But, as fate would have it (pardon the cliches but this is cliche of Grace,) just 500 yards before the stage she reached down, ever possessing a set of eagle eyes, and voila! A lusted-after beach ball! (We'd seen her long for one when they were thrown out to her classmates lucky enough to catch one.) So, that lone ball was claimed immediately by our girl, it sides slapped loudly as she tossed it up and down between her hands.
No big deal. Just Classic Grace.
At least it was no big deal to all 22 Hammett and Goad family members--parents, grandparent, spouses, aunts, uncles, first and second cousins, stretched along a section's worth of front row seats. Her family, who traveled from different towns, different regions of Tennessee and two other states--proceeded amongst themselves to guffaw and quietly cheer their only only child, only grandchild, last grandchild, youngest cousin. That? That. Was our girl.
That? That. Was Graduation Grace-style.
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Stayed tuned. As this tired momma aims to get her groove back on with "The Journey with Grace," the blog, and this week, the book. I really do miss writing substance here. Swollen with pride but relieved this week, this month, this spring is about to be over. Details on the future, Grace-style, coming soon. Don't forget to check out all new GraceArt at TPAC Polk Theater lobby through mid-August. Namaste.
About the photo: this very poor phone picture--doctored in Instagram, as I am currently too tired and dread downloading the 3.75 million pictures I took with my clunky Canon--illustrates well, Graduation Grace-style...facing, during much of the ceremony, anywhere but where she "should" be. The last cue, given by the graduation speakers was some funky music, to which Grace--the girl who also never met a tune to which she didn't break out into a wild dance--proceeded to go behind the chairs, her back facing her classmates and dance toward the onlooking guests. Oy. Teacher, again, to the rescue. Poor Grace, she never understands why we must kill her joy like that. ;)