At a scholarship night at Monterey (Calif.) High School, I sat in the cafeteria recalling a lifetime of sports banquets and a whole lot of spaghetti dinners.

For 30 years, my first husband taught and coached at this school. From the parking lot, looking down the hill at the glittering blue curve of Monterey Bay, you can see the gym that bears his name.

Most families have some sort of identity, a trademark that sets them apart. The Kennedys had politics. The Corleones had the mob. We had basketball.

But this night was not about basketball. It was about diligence, hard work, dedication and, for me, the passing of a torch.

I was there to see my children present their dad's scholarship, one that we started 10 years ago with donations that poured in after his death following a lengthy fight with cancer.

It's awarded each year to a graduating senior who is not just a student or an athlete, but an all-around good citizen.

For most of those 10 years, I've presented the award myself. This year, I decided it was time to pass the honor to my kids.

The teachers in the family presented the award. My daughter, once a cheerleader for her dad's teams, now teaches fifth grade; and my youngest, who as a toddler had a fondness for unplugging the scoreboard during his dad's games, is working on a teaching credential.

They were shaking hands with the scholarship winner when I noticed my daughter's earrings.

They were mine, actually, a pair of pearls I wear all the time.

Seeing her in my earrings with her hair pulled back as I'd once wore mine, I was struck by how much she looked like me - well, when I was her age.

Moreover, I noticed how her brother, towering over her, looked an awful lot like his dad.

I hope the parents were paying attention. Life is like a video that's set on fast forward, and there is no rewind button.

One day you're sitting in a cafeteria at a banquet making your kids eat spaghetti while their dad cracks corny jokes.

Then you blink, and you're back in the same cafeteria, only your daughter is wearing your favorite earrings and your baby is flashing his daddy's smile and you're wondering how you can feel so happy with your feet in those sensible shoes.

I swear.

It's worth waking up each day just to see what happens next.

Sharon Randall's column is distributed through Scripps Howard News Service and published Saturdays in the Life section. She can be contacted at P.O. Box 777394, Henderson, NV89077, or Sharonrandall.com.