end of cycle Press

The boat left the pier in the Old Port, accompanied by graduates of Feiston’s secondary school. We were one of the few parents who stayed till the beginning. Phiston had already been on board for an hour. There is undoubtedly a nautical metaphor for going fishing. About the daddy penguin who won’t let go of his chick.

It was prom night, a Thursday. Sunny was wearing clothes. Slicked back hair, black suit, anthracite bow tie and bronze sneakers. Class. He had dragged his camera with him to immortalize this journey on the river and this rite of aging.

One morning, you ask your son, who is in kindergarten, if he wants to send a letter to Santa Claus. He looks at you suspiciously, question marks in his eyes. a letter? To Santa Claus? This tall guy approaches the fridge, probably thinking “Why not? If it makes you happy Dad! “. He attaches a magnetic letter to it, then says: “I’m going to send her an A! ,

I can’t remember if he chose a red, blue, yellow or green A, but this letter thing still makes us laugh years later.

One day, I said, you’re in your pajamas asking a question to your son who’s in kindergarten, and what seems like the next day, a giant pole leading to a James Bond-looking high school prom.

My agent 007 wasn’t the only one wearing his 31. It took me a moment to recognize my granddaughter, who was with Friend, a classmate of Sonny’s. She came over to greet me, staring into me with her green eyes, and she must have read in my eyes that I had not immediately taken her place, in her emerald ballgown made up.

Without warning, before our eyes, while we look away, a boy becomes a man, a girl becomes a woman.

In many of these adolescents, just prior to boarding, there may be something to be said about some of the codes and conventions of the adult world. Many young women strutted in straitjackets of sheath dresses, their hands clutching the cut, stiletto heels perched on the sides.

Some had difficulty balancing while grasping these stilts. By the end of the evening, he had taken off his pumps and was running barefoot. Others, clinging to a friend, were the tricks of bathers who find the icy water of the sea or the burning sand of the beach without pleasure.

This Montreal youth of rhinestones and sequins testified in its palette of shimmering colors – for girls as well as boys – of all its origins, all its confessions, even of all its genders. A young woman in transition caused a stir when she arrived in her beautiful dress.

For my part coming of age I looked like a nice guy or a supporting actor running away from the set Miami Vice In 1984, I had my T-shirt under my jacket and espadrilles arranged with my hair. Same look – black jacket, white sneakers – as at least half the youths are getting ready to take the boat. , dress your age », say the English.

Last week, Feiston wore his toga for the grad’s traditional convocation at La Fontaine Park.

The (albeit false) presentation of the diploma, the throwing of a mortar on stage: excuses for too many feelings for a father on edge. I was holding back tears even before my son entered the auditorium.

They flowed unrestrained for most of the ceremony. The pictures I took are blurry.

Late Thursday evening, I waited for Sonny to return to Old Port. I saw the boat speeding down the river, behind the Cirque du Soleil tent. A daddy penguin. I heard music, screams, laughter from the dance floor on the bridge. Everything was very quiet when we reached the big ghat. The young man hugged for the last time at the sound ofall about meby John Legend.

Sonny greets classmates, may or may not see him again anytime soon. We were waiting for him on a bench facing the river, far away. He came and sat near us. As I was about to ask him a question about his evening, he told me with a subtle wave of his hand that he preferred that I not break the silence. I concluded that he wanted to take time to absorb it all. Laugh and bye. The bitter sweet end of the cycle of life.

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