Graduation day in Chapel Hill. The caps and gowns are out, as are the dads in sportcoats and moms in sundresses. Sunshine and breeze, then torrential rain, then sunshine again. A local tells me, if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes.
A few families gather for brunch in downtown Raleigh, which has gone more Buckhead than you'd expect. Condos and wine bars and chic boutiques. Raleigh, folks. And so America progresses. Five friends pose for a picture, five friends who will be in five different cities come July.
Cocktail parties follow and with them come several introductions and Amstel Lights. I meet a few professors, and find myself discussing portfolio theory, the Dutch economy, China's GDP. Not my wheelhouse, but I manage okay, even despite scarfing hors dervies the whole time.
Rain being ever imminent, the ceremony is in the Dean Dome. Number 23 is hanging in the rafters, and it's easy to draw 'greatness begins here' parallels. There are audible cheers, inaudible speeches and genuine chills when tassels are moved.
Brother Tom walks the stage, I shout Atta Boy! and catch a glance of Mom and Dad, beaming. I take a look around, eyes are welling, as they are in auditoriums across the country. Tomorrow, a few hundred thousand college graduates will take to the street and attempt to make their mark.
And so America progresses.
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