How many times can a bright but naïve 18-year-old say the words “awesome” and “meta” in the course of a 10-minute high school graduation address? I lost count about four minutes in, sufficiently irritated, if bemused, and instead bugged my son Booker to check his iPhone for the latest score of the Red Sox/Yankees game on June 7, a key square-off between the A.L. East rivals that I was missing to attend my older son Nicky’s grand ceremony—the 12th grade boys were rather royally garbed in white tux coats with buttoniers, the gals in fancy dresses—that was oddly held at 7:30 p.m.
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