Mike Nichols directed one of my all-time favorites, The Graduate, starring Dustin Hoffman, Ann Bancroft and Katharine Ross. It was written by the incomparable Buck Henry who penned the one liner that advised Dustin’s character (Benjamin) to get into this new field: “Plastics.”
And do I even have to mention the music by Simon and Garfunkel? I didn’t think so.
The Freshman at Acatraz on Mom’s Day
The graduate in my life this year is my youngest son, Stevie. Ironically, he graduated from San Francisco State University with a degree in Environmental Studies with aspirations to rid the world of plastics. The entire family headed north to commemorate the monumental day. Final score: four college graduates. As the endless summer was starting, our tuition payments were ending. And we have empty wallets to prove it.
My friend, Rose and I hit the road first. I warned Rose, aka Stevie’s Godmother, that I had watched Thelma and Louise the night before. Another classic. A Ridley Scott film based on Calli Khouri’s Oscar winning script starring Susan Sarandon and Geena Davis; with a breakout role by some new guy named Brad.
Yes, a great film but a lousy choice if you’re setting out on a seven hour drive through two of the busiest freeways in the world. We had plenty of coffee so what could possibly go wrong? Rose let me drive her car which was a good idea as Rose was voted “Worst Mom Driver” – by all three of her kids’ friends. That’s almost an honor. A Lifetime Achievement Award. Isn’t it? Think about it. No carpool nominations. No frantic calls from neurotic Moms on overdrive to pick up their Einstein from their Physics for First Graders course. Brilliant, Rose.
As I was printing up directions, Rose called with big news. She downloaded “Fifty Shades of Grey” by E.L. James; and she would read it aloud during our drive.
I thought to myself…”Then what?”
That night, I mentioned it to my husband during pillow talk but he was clueless. I explained that it is the latest, greatest, naughtiest S&M erotica book for women. Once they start reading it, they can’t put it down; along with that glass of wine on their nightstand.
My husband perked up. “Then what?” No problem. “It’s a trilogy!”
The next morning, I warned Rose that I watched the chic flick of all time. From here on out, she was Thelma and I was Louise. She laughed lightly to which I replied rather abruptly ala Louise. “I mean it! No Grey matter ’til we hit the open highways, north of LA.” As it was, my hair turned one ugly shade of gray as we crawled through the worst LA traffic I’ve seen in a decade. So I suggested my Thelma start reading after our first pit stop.
My husband called as we passed by Magic Mountain: “So, what page you on?”
“The ‘we need more coffee, it took two hours to get through LA and Louise isn’t in the mood right now’ page.”
One quick pit stop and two coffee refills later, we were armed and dangerous. We whipped by the Madonna Inn, San Luis wineries and Stanford without even a mention of the book. Instead, we swapped horror stories and cherished moments about parenting, sibling rivalry, report cards, team Moms and overbearing Dads; while juggling our respective careers. This Thelma and Louise had survived. We were still in the game of this thing called life. One day we would have time to take long, lazy vacations to read the entire Grey Trilogy in one week.
For now, though, we had to navigate the Bay Bridge in the thickest fog I’ve ever seen in San Francisco. Good thing I packed that retro purple leather bomber jacket.
The rest of the family arrived the next morning. For the next four days, we celebrated with the graduate. We dropped into Stevie’s job at Doc Martens on Haight Street. We visited a winery in Napa Valley. We even rode across the Golden Gate Bridge on the open roof top seats of a 3-story bus; and my shades of gray never looked better – like a Brazillian blow out. Later, this Thelma and Louise loaded up on every kind of Trader Joe’s gourmet goody to go with our six bottle value pack of Chardonnay as the newest members of the Sterling Wine Club. But we learned that we could have got the exclusive wine from TJ’s a whole lot cheaper. Later on Uncle Paul would join us for the celebratory feast on Saturday night to toast our losses and our gains.
But first: the big day. By Saturday, the fog had lifted and the sun made a special appearance on the foggiest point in San Francisco. Hence, we spent four hours on the field of SFSU on the hottest day that I can ever remember in San Francisco. Ever. The purple leather bomber jacket stayed back at the condo.
Twenty-three years flashed before my eyes as I sweat in those bleachers.
Then, suddenly, it was all over. Stevie was now Steven.
Was it worth it?
Preschool jitters; little league, middle school angst; high school pranks?
Homework wars, SAT scores?
Drivers license, prom night, broken hearts?
College tuition, housing, Top Ramen, cheap coffee.
Blood, sweat and tears.
And more tears?
Worth every last shade of gray.
Posted by Maggie Franks
