A summer of celebrations in America

I took a recent visit to the US to celebrate a culturally important milestone in my grandson Gideon’s life: his high school graduation. It was the anchor of my trip, and it reminded me how deeply this ritual shapes American family life. For outsiders, it is hard to grasp how momentous it is.

In South Africa, matric dances and university send-offs are milestones, but so many children still live at home or return often. In America, graduation is the moment young people spread their wings. They head off to college for at least four years, often far from home, and seldom return except for holidays. It marks the true beginning of their independence.

Gideon, a conscientious student and captain of the soccer team, stood tall as one of the speakers at the ceremony. It was a celebration of achievement, heavy with pride, yet shadowed by the unmistakable sense that childhood had ended and a new chapter had begun. The threshold where families let go and futures take flight. Caps flew skyward in a storm of tassels, parents held back their tears, and grandparents beamed. The conversations turned to dorm life, majors and the holiday break. And then came the photos. Graduates posing with their parents, grandparents, siblings and classmates, most of whom they will not see again.

New York state of mind

From family milestones in Boston to civic ones in New York.

Basketball, to a foreigner, can feel like chaos. You hear sneakers squeaking and whistles blowing against a backdrop of a blur of bodies. But in New York, the Knicks’ championship win was pure theatre. For the first time since 1973, the team lifted the Larry O’Brien Championship Trophy, ending a 53-year drought. Fans sang the phrase “Knicks in five”, a bold prediction that they would finish the finals in five games out of seven. It became prophetic when they beat the San Antonio Spurs in game five.

The celebration was historic. A ticker-tape parade streamed up Broadway from Battery Park to City Hall, with floats carrying players and officials through a sea of orange and blue. Confetti rained down from skyscrapers, echoing the city’s tradition of venerating astronauts and heads of state. At City Hall, the mayor awarded the team the Keys to the City, a symbolic gesture of freedom and honour. Municipal buildings glowed in Knicks colours, and Alicia Keys performed New York State of Mind as fans roared.

For New Yorkers this was not just a championship, it was a homecoming of joy and a chance for the city to reclaim its pride and share it without reservation. It reminded me of South Africa’s Rugby World Cup victory in 1995, when Nelson Mandela donned the Springbok jersey and a fractured nation found unity in sport.

The Knicks’ triumph carried no such historical burden, yet it gave New York a taste of that same uplifting joy with sport the unifier, a reminder that celebration can conquer differences. A cab driver told me he had not seen the city this united since the Yankees’ glory years, a comparison that, sadly, was lost on me.

Excess, joy and absurdity

And then came the World Cup. Once dismissed as “soccer,” the game has captured America’s imagination. Lionel Messi’s two goals against Austria made him the highest goalscorer in World Cup history, and the mania was instant. Times Square erupted, bars overflowed, and fans in Argentina shirts danced as though celebrating a rock concert.

World Cup mania has spilled into everyday life. A bartender told me he sold more empanadas in one week than in the past year. I gathered that an empanada is the Latin American cousin of our samosa, perfect for eating in a crowd. Rooftop bars buzz with debates over whether to call it “soccer” or “football”, but the arguments dissolve the moment Kylian Mbappe’s shot hits the back of the net.

And then Boston gave us the beer story, where Scottish fans exhausted the city’s supply, drinking more in a day than the Irish community consumes on St Patrick’s Day. It is the kind of anecdote that captures the spirit of the tournament. Excess, joy, and a touch of absurdity.

What’s striking is how seamlessly America has warmed to the competition. Stadiums are packed, crowds roar for heroes, and the game has become a shared language. The semantics do not matter. Americans are discovering the joy of 0-0 draws, while the British are beginning to accept zero instead of nil. The spectacle is intact, and the passion undeniable.

Perhaps the most remarkable story, at least for South Africans, is our own. After their opening game against Mexico, where Bafana Bafana lost 3–0 and looked destined for an early flight home in economy class, the team was written off as embarrassing. Yet on Wednesday night, they rose as though playing to the rhythm and chants of an impi. The team had fire in their boots. They fought their way through the group stage and, for the first time ever, progressed into the knockout round. Fortune smiled too. Their opponent on Sunday in Los Angeles is Canada, a draw that feels more like destiny than luck. And so, we find ourselves happily trading Messi T‑shirts for the green and gold, transferring the pride we usually reserve for Ellis Park to our soccer boys.

From graduations to parades, from basketball to soccer, America’s summer has been a celebration of resilience and joy. The rituals may differ – tossing caps in the air, hoisting trophies, chanting for Messi – but the spirit is the same. Communities have come together, critics have faded into the background, and life is moving forward with energy and optimism. Whether it is photos with the family, confetti on the streets, or a pint of Guinness drained in a Boston pub, this visit reminded me that joy is best when shared.

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_{Top image collage: Rawpixel; Currency.}