Just one word for graduate: summertime.

Byline: Bob Welch / The Register-Guard

Summer - at last - arrives Wednesday, and though I'm not always ready for seasonal changes, I am this time.

Like replacing a golf bag, you don't want a new season to arrive before you've worn out the old one. And I'm having no problem bidding farewell to a soggy, cloudy spring that's been reluctant to give way to summer.

The sailboat has been successfully launched and moored at Fern Ridge Lake after an extra-thorough scrubbing. We'd missed a season because of dam repairs and, beyond being caked in dust, the boat had become the stowaway home to swallows, who'd built a nest in the bow, amid coils of anchor chain.

We then got on to the task of preparing for Saturday's post-graduation barbecue, my main part being stringing 13 boxes of white lights in trees. The gig was in honor of our son Jason, who was graduating from the University of Oregon.

The outdoor ceremony heralded that moment parents of college students dream of: after eight-plus years and two sons, the end of filling out FAFSA (Frustrating Applications for Federal Student Aid) forms and, seemingly, writing enough tuition checks to get a Kidsports team through college.

It was a perfect day for a graduation, spiced with some distinctive UO touches, such as the young man sitting in front of us, his earring decorated with a daisy and his mind less on the ceremony than on the book he was reading: "Anarchy: A Beginner's Guide."

"Welcome to Eugene," I said to my son's fiancee, a transfer from Washington State University who was trading text messages with Jason during the ceremony.

Elsewhere, the campus had been splashed with other touches of quirkiness: a shirtless young man wearing a United States flag cape, and a former student of mine receiving his journalism degree with a giant "hirerobert.com" sign.

Gotta love his gumption.

But these were mere warm-up acts to the graduation headliner: the streaker at the School of Architecture & Allied Arts' outdoor ceremony we attended.

He - yep, there was no doubt about that - began his cross-stage swoop right next to our six-person rooting section, on the Erb Memorial Union's east lawn.

"He's naked!" someone yelled. I looked left to see a young man sprinting down the northern flank of the audience, wearing only shoes.

Howard Backen, a 1962 UO graduate who had just been given the Ellis F. Lawrence Medal, was at the podium at the time. Zing! The streaker flashed past him, quite literally, and was gone.

The crowd whooped and hollered. Backen hesitated, as any speaker would in that position. "I think I recognize him as a former student of mine," he deadpanned.

Perfect.

At the backyard barbecue that followed, we celebrated The Graduate.

Although the kid had attended the UO, I knew a handful of Beavers would be in attendance. And knowing OSU would be playing Miami in the College World Series, I not only made the TV available, but vowed to update the score outside on a plywood scoreboard designed for Whiffle Ball games of yesteryear.

Of course, with OSU losing 11-1, some saw the gesture as a salt-in-the-wound ploy disguised as good will. But as the chief griller and scoreboard operator, I wasn't about to hang my head in shame, lest my Duck hat catch fire.

Amid burgers and dogs, people offered Jason good wishes, a poem and enough money to buy a small condo in Cabo San Lucas. Nobody liked my idea of funneling cash gifts into the student loan account. What fun is that, Pops?

Then, suddenly, just as it was getting dark enough to actually see the 1.3 zillion lights I had strung, the guests were gone.

Oh, well. It had been a good day, a fitting farewell to this season of life. And it felt - finally - a little like summer, that season we Oregonians experienced so long ago that birds have built nests in our metaphorical memories.