I am a college graduate.
In a matter of two days I crossed the threshold from student
to…bachelor? Plain old label-less human? At any rate, not a student. Thursday,
out-going university president Cecil Samuelson “bestowed” upon me and one or
two thousand others a degree, the physical manifestation of which will arrive in
a couple of weeks via the thoroughly unceremonious United States Postal Service.
Friday I was handed an empty vinyl cover in which that magical piece of paper
will eventually reside. I shook the
hands of men I'd never before laid eyes on and walked from one side of a stage
to the other. Thusly was my education declared complete and my life, as a
student, pronounced over.
If all of this sounds like I am terribly prosaic and unsentimental,
I am. If you recall, I have previously declared a complete apathy for engaging
in the ceremonial hoop-jumping known as walking for graduation. To me a nine
year bachelor’s degree feels less like something to celebrate than something to
just get over with as soon as possible…
The problem is that, though probably less so than it was in high
school, a student’s graduation is by no means an achievement which belongs
solely or even mostly to them. Even a relatively self-sufficient person like me
is still indebted to her parents to some extent, albeit perhaps more in
intangibles than otherwise*. Hence I feel that all this pomp and circumstance
surrounding graduation is not so much for the graduate’s sake as for the family’s.
Which is why I decided not to let my graduation pass silently in the night like
my brother. Well, that and I was hoping for congratulatory cash donations. Because
I’m classy like that. And poor. Mostly poor.
Unfortunately, letting your family celebrate your achievements isn’t
exactly fun for them when you yourself couldn’t care less about them. In fact,
I can tell you from my own experience that it’s actually incredibly irritating
and insulting. So it behooved me to strive after some level of engagement in
the hoopla which, after all, was specifically for me (and also Dan).
Alas, behoovement does not engagement make.
It doesn’t help that there are apparently only two questions
anyone can think to ask you post-graduation.
“Do you feel any different?” and “So what’s next?” These are especially
trying when you have weaned yourself out of school as gradually as I have. I had
exactly zero changes pending the ceremony and, in fact, slightly resented it
for awkwardly interrupting my regular schedule. If nothing else, this makes for
dull conversation—though I discovered on Sunday that it is still preferable to the
guy who uses his congratulations to humblebrag about his own self-funded
education, graduation, and consequent disposal of student debt 25 years ago
(after his fourth or fifth assertion of hatred at the idea of dragging that
debt around with him I was forced to reply “Oh really? Because I just love it!” because I can only
handle so much humblebragging)
In the end, I guess I can be grateful to the fifteen year campaign
my brother and I have inadvertently waged upon my mother to strip her of any vestige
of hope for a nice family moment. Sadly, we not only lack sentimentality for
educational milestones, but for pretty much every other thing my mom cares
about. Because my mom is practically nothing but sentiment. Poor woman was somehow
cursed with two pragmatically stoic children who could never satisfy her need
for heartfelt and teary-eyed moments. But despite my mom’s enduring optimism on
this front, Dan’s and my war of attrition has, at least, conditioned her to
accept an incredibly low level of participation as satisfactory. She’s like an
emotional migrant worker living through the Dust Bowl years of her children’s
lives—she can make do with practically nothing.
This is not to say that I didn’t try. I sincerely tried to glean
wisdom from [stay awake through] the speeches, even the incredibly pompous
student speaker on Friday. I rebuked myself when snarky commentary about all
the arbitrary traditions rose, unbidden, to my lips. I even pulled out Rory’s
graduation from Yale to strive after inspiration.
Alas, it was all in vain. I
am as I am; incredibly unimpressed with the ceremony of graduating college.
Luckily, as anyone who has ever talked to me about my birthday can
attest, I do love any occasion where my friends and family get together,
especially if it involves presents and/or food (as we all know, food is kind of
like a very frequent gift to your mouth, so they’re basically the same
thing). Therefore, on that front—that is,
the front where tradition dictates the giving of some sort of graduation gift—I
found the weekend to be quite nice.
Of course, I admit this with some embarrassment, though my
feelings on being an enthusiastic receiver of gifts should probably wait for
another post. Suffice it to say, I have
a feeling that it is generally deemed tacky to openly admit that you look
forward to events for the presents. But
in this case my natural tackiness came to my assistance, buoying me up to find
some enjoyment in an otherwise boring and rather inconvenient weekend. If I couldn’t muster a tear for the ending of
an era, at least I could easily smile for the bouquet of lovely flowers I
received to commemorate it!
Thus my favorite part of my graduation weekend had nothing to do
with actually graduating, save that it was the occasion that brought us
together. And that was our big dinners Thursday and Friday nights. All four of
my parents were there (a first-time experience that I very much enjoyed) as
well as some of my closest friends. There was delicious food and even a couple
really fantastic gifts.
I am left wishing that it didn’t require some arbitrary ceremony
or “milestone” for people who love each other to get together and eat and even
give each other presents. If I had the money, I would make weekends like this
happen far more often…only without the polyester robes, ridiculous hats, and
time wasted in uncomfortable chairs. Perhaps then I wouldn’t be left with a
vague feeling of failure at the end. Regardless, I am glad that I got to see my
family this weekend, and even that I graduated, though that’s more in an
abstract, reasoned sense than any sort of emotional response. That’s how I
feel.
And before you ask, I don’t know what’s next…
*Let us pause a moment for the obligatory
disclaimer about how I’m making some assumptions here and that I acknowledge
that actually there are plenty of kids who may not have anything at all to
thank their parents for and I’m sorry if they’re feeling marginalized right now
and they have my sincere apologies
