Not Just Another Bachelor Boy

Yesterday I took the day off work to attend my Dad's graduation ceremony.
Not something a lot of people have had the experience of, I would imagine, and it certainly gave me a whole new twist on how to look at things, and the world in general.

My Dad, not to put too fine a point on it, worked his arse off for this degree.
Consistently, relentlessly, persistently, hungrily, with a determination and set to his jaw combined with an elegance of thought and deed that was incredible to see.

For five years.

So, it was with beaming pride and whoops of support that Mum, my sister Jemma, and I, watched him walk up the steps to shake the hand of the Vice Chancellor of Portsmouth University.
His was the ninety-somethingth degree to be read out, and all veterans of ceremonies of this kind will know that universal applause has begun to flag by this point, with people realising that bruising their own hands through constant clapping is rather an undesirable activity.
However, the Registrar's list reading rhythm was broken, for the first time that day, by adding;

"...with First Class Honours...Keith Hockney."

Most people in the auditorium were close to others who had just finished three long years of degree, and knew what this meant.

The applause was intense.

I know Keith hadn't done it for the opinions of others, the impression that it would give them or the kudos it would claim for him. He pushed for that First because he wanted it and because that's the kind of person he is.

But still, he had earned the applause he recieved yesterday through his own efforts for his own reasons, and for our part there were three people who care about him very much right in the front row, clapping our hands off and fit to burst with the sheer joy and pride of seeing him achieve his dream.

It may be the understatement of the century so far, but - nicely done Keith.

Nicely done.