June 2, 2005 Issue

It was if I had never left.The weather in Sewanee, Tenn. on the morning of August 5, 2001 was dreadful. Though it was 10 a.m. and approaching the dog days of summer, it was almost dark and it was raining steadily. Believe it or not, it was almost cold.I had not been in Sewanee since 1974 when I attended college at the University of the South.The memories I have of my college days on that beautiful campus are almost all secondary to the insistent dreariness of the weather on that mountain.Rain and fog and an almost constant chill were the norm, not the exception.

I had spent four days with my youngest son, Chatham, as he tried to settle in at his new school, St. Andrews-Sewanee. He was four days into his thirteenth year and had, on his own, made the decision to attend a boarding school. He was struggling with two-a-day football pre-season football practices and getting pummeled by teammates much older and bigger than he.His feet and ankles were already so swollen they had to be iced after every practice.

It was time for me to leave Chatham and return to Destin and I wanted to give him a pep talk to let him know how proud I was of his decision. We pulled off to the side of Hwy. 41 between Monteagle and Sewanee, and parked above the practice football field. It was mid-afternoon and the persistent drizzling misting rain and the darkening sky made it seem like dusk, which was still hours away.

"Chatham," I said. "There are all kinds of folks in this world." With that kind of start he knew I was delivering a farewell talk.
"Most people wander and struggle through life and in that alone face more than enough challenge.Lots of people are put on this earth, and for whatever reason, they just aren't capable of accomplishing a whole lot. Just getting through life is enough for some folks."

Chatham leaned against my truck and gazed at the practice field and the campus of St. Andrews below us.But I could tell he was listening to every word.

"You are different, Chatham," I continued. "You are a special boy, and you weren't put here to just get through life.You have unique gifts and talents, and you need to use those gifts.You need to make a difference Chatham.In whatever it is you do; you need to make a difference; you need to make things better."

It was quiet for a spell.The heavy mist and dark clouds made everything seem still.

It was then that the Knute Rockne came out in me. "Now get on down there Chatham," I almost shouted."Get down there and make me proud."I slapped him on his butt for emphasis.

Without so much as a word—because I don't think words would have come easily—Chatham, with his helmet tucked under his right arm, slowly jogged down the hill, toward the campus and the football field.Without even turning to say goodbye, he stuck up his left hand in a sort of reverse wave of farewell.

It is three miles from the St. Andrews campus on Hwy. 41 to the entrance ramp for I-24 in Monteagle. I had an eight-hour drive home to Destin. I had made the trip to Sewanee several days earlier with my 13-year-old son and it had been pleasant.Now I was going home alone.

It wasn't a misting rain now.It was a downpour.I pulled off the side of the highway and turned on the emergency flashing lights on my truck. I hadn't made it to the Interstate before I began to realize Chatham wasn't the one I was worried about.As tears rolled down my cheeks, it also became clear that he wasn't the one who needed a pep talk.

***

The weather this past weekend in Sewanee was true to form. The skies on Sunday morning May 29 were dark and the winds were gusty and full of rain.But my family could have cared less. We had made the trek to Tennessee to celebrate Chatham's graduation from St. Andrews - Sewanee School. And what a celebration it was.

St. Andrews is an Episcopal school and the entire weekend reflected the spiritual nature of the 146-year-old institution.

The baccalaureate service was Friday evening, honors day Saturday afternoon, and commencement was held Sunday morning.The weekend was filled with choirs and chamber orchestras and speeches and salutations.There were flowers everywhere.The music was beautiful.There were receptions with food and drink and dancing.There were 44 graduates from a demanding prep school.There were hundreds of family members who maintained smiles throughout the weekend.

We attended honors day without inflated expectations for our graduate.Chatham did great throughout his four years but we knew that he hadn't finished at the top of the class. But on Saturday Chatham was presented with two wonderful awards.The nature of the awards is what was most unusual.

Chatham received the trophy for the best athlete in the Class of 2005. He played football, wrestled, played baseball, and ran track throughout his time at St. Andrews.Then, near the end of the program he received the Mountain Mirror Poetry Award.It was given in honor of the class's most outstanding poet.

The awards Chatham received were special. But they have little to do with what makes me most proud of him.

Chatham's four years away from home were not easy ones for him.The late night conversations with his mother were sometimes interminable. In truth, Carla should have received some award for the perseverance only a mother can possibly possess.

The four years were not easy for some other kids either.

Jamal Jones is a bright eyed, wispy black kid with blazing speed.He was an all-state football player at St. Andrews.Jamal comes from a tough area in Houston, Texas; a neighborhood from which many black kids don't get out alive.

Chatham and Jamal were roommates when both were 13. Jamal's parents told me that he never would have made it through the first year much less the fourth year if it weren’t for Chatham's friendship.

Cody Layne is a local kid from Tracy City, Tenn. He suffers from a Tourette's type of syndrome that has made him a bit withdrawn and shy.Cody's mother took me aside after the graduation and told me how much Chatham's friendship had meant to Cody when things weren't always going well for him.

The commencement service ended late Sunday morning.The male students lit Cuban cigars—an activity strictly prohibited while enrolled at St. Andrews.The girls took photographs and hugged and cried and tried to keep their hair safe from the steadily increasing rain.

The parents stood back and watched. And smiled. And wondered how four years could pass so quickly.God knows proud parents can be an insufferable lot.

And I could care less.

More from Charles Morgan