The father of the graduate is a footman at the festivities, a porter, a supernumerary. Through cunning and perseverance, he has accumulated the pots of gold required to raise a girl nowadays, supply the wardrobe and the array of lotions and emollients, pay the string of retainers and therapists, foot the bill for class trips and team sports and top-flight electronics, and now, as the daughter processes through the crowd in the gymnasium, as the mother quietly weeps, the father sits, holding a spare hankie.

Read the full column at the Washington Post’s site →

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