On Sunday, May 19, 2003, my first-born became a college graduate. A momentous day for us all, thank you, thank you.
I was going to write this as a kind of photo essay, but really, it's not worth using up all my image space on all the idiots we endured that day. So it's just your basic rant instead.
The ceremony at her public university, tucked away in a scenic corner of the state of New York, took place out-of-doors on a quad-sort-of green lawn. It was not held in a stadium or arena, as this school has no such thing, which is okay with all of us. The school has no football, lacrosse, or basketball team, which is actually one of the things that drew R here in the first place. But it also means no nice venue for a graduation. So it goes.
I do not like crowds. I do not like noise. I do not like stress. I do not like stress.
We left the old homestead at 7:00 am, five of us riding in the FIL's big Cadillac (he's a very big man) for a hopeful arrival by 9:00, since we expected traffic. But there was no traffic, because we are the compulsively early
people. The signs pointing to the parking lots weren't even out yet. We got to the graduation area at 8:30.
For a ceremony scheduled to begin at 11:00. It was thirty-fucking-five degrees, and there we sat in sandals and summer wear. It did not bode well.
But it was pretty.
We found great seats on a bench, behind all these folding chairs that were already set up; the benches were slightly raised. The FIL, with recent severe back problems, sat in the car, which was parked just behind us, so he had a great view and was even warm. We waited.
They kept testing the sound system, which seemed to work just great. People started to come in and take seats. Many had brought their own lawn chairs, which was suggested. We'd left ours in the car when we found the bench. About an hour
before it started, they tested the sound system by playing The Star Spangled Banner. About half the people there stood up when it came on, because, really,isn't that what you're supposed to do? But when they played it the third time,
nobody bothered.
It was time for the entry of the graduates, now about 11:30. Everyone stood up. I mean, everyone. We saw nothing but the hundreds of bodies between the graduates and our bench.
Hmm.
The ceremony began. The sound system worked great, as long as you were the university president and knew you were supposed to speak into the microphone. Otherwise, not so good.
Then people started to move around. They were getting up to buy coffee, or hot dogs (yes, hot dogs.)
There was never a time when people weren't getting up and walking around or moving their chairs.
They all seemed to think that this was a private kind of thing, just for each of themselves and their families. When they wanted to, they stood up, or yelled to their graduates, or blew air-horns. These are the parents and grandparents who were doing this. After they would hear their own kid's name, they got up and left.
They sure were excited. They stood up in groups, they stood on their chairs to get their graduate's attention. It was the first two-way, interactive gradation ceremony I've ever been to.
I couldn't see my kid, so I started taking pictures of all the idiots around me and their behavior. But I stopped about a half hour before it was over. I gave up. At this point:
- Everyone started talking, louder than before, even though there were about 100 more names to go.
- The graduate students, who had received their diplomas first, actually left the area where all the cap-and-gowned folk were seated, and drifted into the audience, looking for their families. They met in joyous and raucous reunion, video-cameras at the ready. Once again, their advanced education gave them no clue that they were not the only ones there, nor that there were other families and other graduates in the vicinity.
- By the time R's name was read, we couldn't hear anything at all. We couldn't see anything. The people behind us let their toddler loose, and he was weaving in and out around our benches, crying if anyone tried to stop him.
We never saw her at all, not until it was over and she found us at our bench. When she asked if we'd heard her name, we said that, of course, we had all heard it.
It was over about 1:30; then we went out to lunch. All of this, remember, is with my in-laws, with whom I've lately been very angry. But I am just so good at not expressing anger *ahem* that they didn't even know it! Lucky little me!
Anyway, it was R's day, and it was good for her, and that's really the only thing that counts for anything.
We got home about 5:30. It was one damn long, cold, annoying day.
One daughter down, one to go.
