From Dad to his grad

Dear grad girl,

This could’ve easily been said face to face. But like a lot of wiseguys, I’m better in print. My sincerity, it comes and it goes.

I just wanted to say thank you for inviting us down to your college graduation. You must’ve felt the way rural graduates, say in Tennessee, feel when the country cousins all show up on a hay truck. “Oh, my God, look what Dad’s wearing! How could Mom let him leave the house?”

But we arrived, and that’s the important thing, zoomed down Interstate 15 in two cars, one of them clean. The baby helped me wash it. I place his diapered rear end on the hood, then let him scoot around for a few minutes pretending he’s a tree frog. As power buffers go, he’s the best.

It sure was nice down there, though. A little hot. Did your mother tell you that my kidneys shut down just as we pulled into the parking garage? My tongue failed too, but no one seemed to notice or complain.

Getting into the ceremony was a little like an old Jerry Lewis movie. Unknowingly, our little tribe tried to enter the handicapped gate. I wondered why the line was so short. I just assumed we discovered some secret entrance to that giant tomb.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the attendant said, then explained we’d have to use another entrance.

“Sometimes I limp,” your brother tried to tell the guy.

“I don’t think that counts,” your little sister told him.

Inside, it was great. A little combo played Vivaldi’s greatest hits. People took pictures of one another. Have you noticed how with digital cameras, people are a lot less selective about what they’ll shoot? In an effort to photograph my retina, your brother nearly blinded me. Doctors say vision will return in three to four years.

Then you grads arrived.

“There she is!” your sister shouted.

“Who?”

“Her!” she said, and our entire row stood up, as if a bride had entered the back of a church.

After you were finally in, we sang the national anthem. Our row chose the key of C, while the rest of the arena sang it in concert B-flat. Believe me, you’d have been glad you were not nearby. When the anthem was over, some wiseguy said, “Play ball.” I think it was me.

“Shuuuush,” your sister scolded.

“Geeeeesh,” groaned your poor beleaguered mom.

“Geeeeesh,” echoed your baby brother.

I loved watching you and your classmates that day. Like love, poignant is an overused word. But I think, in this case, it was made to fit. Tell me, is there anything brighter than a graduate’s smile? I’m talking major wattage here, major. It’s like Redford meets Monroe, these smiles. What great faces. There is joy, relief, anticipation, dread.

In your sweet smile, I could see you saying, “Thanks, Mom and Dad. Thanks for everything.” That may not be what you intended at all, but that’s how I saw it. If I’m wrong, don’t correct me.

In your smile, I also see something else. “In two years, I’ll be driving a Porsche,” it says. “Just watch me.”

Baby, I hope you get your Porsche. I also hope you get your house and your career and anything else your 21-year-old heart desires. I’m still awaiting my Porsche, of course, but I have you and your three siblings. I’d trade it all for a Porsche, believe me. But till then, I have all of you.

Mostly, I just wanted to say good luck out there, to you and all those classmates. It’s an odd world, a little trickier than you might imagine. A little capricious. A little cold. Wear it down with that smile, OK? Break the working world’s silly, soulless spirit.

And one last thing. Once you get your Porsche, please don’t forget where you came from. It wasn’t much, but it was always warm in winter. It was safe. It was relatively clean. We tried to keep the yard up. In a few years, you’ll probably appreciate what a gift that was.

Till that day, here’s one thing you can take to the bank, long before that first paycheck: Long as you live, you’ll never find a prouder papa.

Love always, Dad

P.S. Any idea where we parked?

Chris Erskine can be reached at chris.erskine @latimes.com.