Today I attended my son’s graduation from business school.
The speaker was a well known district attorney.
She is a stylish woman, and as a way of making a fashion statement, since she had a green graduation robe covering her dress, she walked down the long aisle at St. Ignatius Church with killer shoes on. I mean killer. Red soles, stiletto heels, and sleek black pointy toes. Those shoes were expensive.
The speech was political. We had to hear about Barack Obama. We had to hear about all of the civil rights attorneys she admired. We had to take in one platitude after another. The only detail I can remember is that she referred to Twitter.
Judge Blah leaned over and whispered in my ear: What is Twitter?
A 140 character Tweet, I said.
The graduates pomped and the parents considered the circumstances.
But then, the president of the university, a Jesuit, came to the podium and spoke briefly.
He started with a specific example we all could appreciate: a wobbly air mattress in the middle of a pool used to teach children during their swimming lessons just how unstable certain surfaces are, even when they look safe.
He moved the analogy to our lives and the surfaces we think we can balance or stand on, only to find them as precarious as that air mattress. Sometimes we fall off; other times we catch a wave and ride it in. Everyone, from the graduates to the grandparents listened intently to the speaker as he spoke to us, not at us.
He had carefully selected his words. Crisp language. His inflection, from loud to sotto voce, reeled me in to his sphere. He didn’t try to be relevant. He just was relevant.
She is. So much. Like. So many. Politicians.
A turn off.
A governmental turn off.