JOSEPH N. BELL -- The Bell Curve

Last Friday, I went to a college graduation. It shouldn’t have happened

this soon.

It was just last month he graduated from Newport Harbor High School. And

a month before that he learned to drive a car. And a month before that he

came to us and said he was going to try out for South Coast Repertory’s

production of “A Christmas Carol.”

My stepson, Erik, was 10 then -- a shy, skinny kid far more comfortable

within his own private thoughts than in calling attention to himself on a

stage. His mother and I were astonished at his announcement and felt a

need to cushion the hurt we were sure was coming.

So we talked to him at unnecessary length about his lack of experience

and how tough the competition was going to be and what a good lesson and

confidence-builder it would be to put himself out there, whether or not

he was chosen.

He listened patiently, and then we sent him off, sure we had prepared him

for disappointment.

Well, he returned with the part, spent a glorious two months schmoozing

with real professionals, and came away from closing night hooked on

theater.

That love affair has grown and flourished ever since. He had fine

direction and an assortment of leading parts through his four years at

Harbor High, was the first freshman ever cast in a lead at Occidental

College, and has honed his craft to a fine edge in numerous performances

there and in the British Academy of Dramatic Arts in London. So when he

makes an announcement now, his mother and I take him pretty seriously.

Occidental was a reach for us. It was beyond our means at the time, even

with the fine scholarship Erik had won and held throughout his four

years. But we cobbled it together and have never, for one moment,

regretted our choice.

The small campus was right for Erik. He had magnificent teachers and an

education that will prod him to keep learning the rest of his life -- and

he gave back of himself as much as he received.

So Erik graduated last Friday. And we mercifully found a spot beneath a

shady tree to protect us from the hot sun while we tuned in and out to

the usual complement of speakers and choral music and wondered how and

where this wonderfully talented young man is going to make his mark --

and what color hair he would show up with at the graduation.

When I asked him earlier who the principal speaker would be, he told me

he had purposefully forgotten the name because it was probably someone

politically well-known and I would be irritated with Erik for not knowing

who he was.

He was right. The speaker was former cabinet member and San Antonio mayor

Henry Cisneros, who took his cue from the heat and spoke briefly but

eloquently.

And Erik’s hair? The color turned out to be secondary to the cut -- a

Mohawk from which his tassel dangled because he couldn’t get his cap on.

At least he was easy to spot in the sea of graduates. When I asked him

what message we were supposed to get from the Mohawk, he thought it over

for a moment and then said, “Cool hair.”

There was a box luncheon at the campus quad afterward, attended by a

dozen of Erik’s extended family, which he enjoyed enormously because he

draws strength and comfort and great pleasure from family. And then he

was off for a week of theater in New York -- his graduation present --

before going to work in the lowest echelons of a television production

company.

In his last college year, Erik’s passion for theater took a new

direction. He wrote four plays, which got progressively better. His third

was given a workshop production at Occidental, and as I watched it, I

marveled at the perceptions of this young man who couldn’t possibly -- or

could he? -- have drawn these insights from personal experience.

It was at first startling, then enormously satisfying, to me to realize

that he has already moved beyond me in the craft in which I’ve spent a

lifetime. I can no longer offer help. I can only read and react.

Through his playwriting, Erik has greatly expanded the breadth of his

interests. Once he finds a bone to chew on, he researches it relentlessly

-- a luxury we hope he can still enjoy after he goes to work.

Those interests haven’t yet reached into my visceral involvement in

sports and politics, but I don’t rule it out. And until they do, I will

continue to remind him that he never invited me to a football game at

Oxy. Or any kind of game, for that matter.

There is a kind of danger, I suppose, in allowing Erik’s considerable

artistic achievements to obscure the greatest achievement of all: the

person he has become. He spreads joy with such an effortless elan that he

can turn a somber atmosphere into a kind of electric enthusiasm. His

excesses are excessive and his convictions absolute, as only they can be

to a 22-year-old. We embrace his infrequent visits home because they

always lighten and help put into perspective burdens we are carrying at

the moment.

As expected, there were speeches last Friday about how these graduates

are the hope of our future and the world is a smorgasbord of promise and

opportunity from which they can choose to make their marks.

I didn’t hear anyone mention that college graduation is also a watershed

of sorts, where former students begin to learn what auto and health

insurance costs and that long-distance calls are cheaper on weekends.

But listening to Erik’s plays, I realize he has already learned some

profound lessons. And the most profound of all is how to be a caring,

sensitive, thoughtful human being.

So happy graduation, Erik.

* JOSEPH N. BELL is a resident of Santa Ana Heights. His column appears

Thursdays.