Dr. Frandsen

On May 19th, 2012, Jonathan Evans Frandsen added a Dr. to his name.

It sounds pretty intimidating.  When a sentence begins with "Dr. Frandsen," it suggests there is a question soon to follow.  It also implies that the Dr. answering the question is sure to know the answer.

 This one probably does.  Or, at least, he'll study and search and ruminate about 'said' question until he finds it.  

 I remember one such question that cankered Dr. Frandsen's mind for a couple of months after he completed his Step One certification boards.  It had something to do with a family in the Andes mountains, a sick baby, goats milk, and the recommended course of treatment.

 He probably knows the answer by now.  But, it's a good thing questions like that aren't the reason he wanted to become a doctor.

 Dr. Frandsen knew what he wanted to be when he was a little boy--except for the years he spent dreaming about working for the forest service.

 (A dream he probably still visits every now and then).

 He wanted to be a doctor so that he could help people;

 so he could be like his dad;

 and so that he could provide for his family.

So, we (played cars and) waited in the balcony of the University of Utah's Kingsbury Hall for him to cross the stage, to hear his name called and watch him receive his doctoral hood.

When we knew the time was near, I propped Aaron up on the bar.  The dean finally read, "Dr. Jonathan Frandsen," and Jonny stepped onto the stage, hood in hand.

They placed it, and the weight of all Dr. Frandsen's unanswered questions upon his shoulders.  All cheered, and whooped and applauded.

 And, then once the hooplah subsided, Aaron yelled out, "That's my daddy!"

 Dr. Frandsen smiled ear to ear and waved.

 And, there we were, happy as could be (minus JJ, who got shuttled into Paul and Amy's soccer crew for the ceremonial events);

 so grateful for such supportive family (many not pictured);

so lucky for good med school colleagues who, within hours of commencement's commencement, were kind enough to round up a tassel from a 2007 med school grad (when you shove all your belongings into a storage unit before graduation day and can't find your tassel, you don't care if the back up tassel is four times larger and says the wrong year);

and, so thankful for kind, hilarious, like-minded friends (many not pictured) who travailed through med school by our sides.

And, happy with what we accomplished in the last four years.

While I watched Dr. Frandsen and Dr. Frandsen walk side by side, exchanging "notes" about their observations for the past few hours with a McQueen backpack slung over one shoulder, I chuckled. Somehow doctors seemed a little less intimidating.