graduation ceremony

A red tulip, and a blossom of vanilla.

Parents had already received honorary ribbons, in red. Which the wife wore as she drove us into town.

Late, as usual, although this time I suppose most of the blame is mine. If someone had told me the ceremony started precisely at seven o'clock, and not seven-thirty as I was thinking, we would have been fine.

It didn't help that the wind ripped my ribbon off my shirt in the parking lot, and I had to chase it clear around the Fine Arts center to finally retrieve it by the dumpster by the back door to the stage.

So, we ended up high in the bleachers in the gymnasium, considerably worse off than with eldest son's graduation. You could barely see the table of 94 diplomas.

What we could see was lots and lots of parents that we knew. The president of the graduating class was born only a few days before youngest son, her mother just across the hall in the hospital for a day or two. Another young woman in the class was born less than an hour before our redhead, in the delivery room next door. Doctors and nurses passing back and forth to keep tabs on each mother, and us fathers meeting in the hall to compare notes. Chuck and his wife were there for their eldest son. Youngest son's best friend's father and step-mom were behind us.

The procession started precisely at seven o'clock. Accompanied by the faint pomp and circumstance of the school band, severely depleted and weakened by the absence of the seniors. We were so high up that the wife, with the video cam, missed the entrance of our son. Had to nudge her when I noticed he was halfway to his seat and she was still aiming at the door.

'Course, the fact that he was paired up with the tallest kid in the class, and therefore did not stand out as a tall redhead himself, did make him harder to spot.

Kindly, the school administrators kept their remarks brief. And as with eldest son's graduation, there was a PowerPoint presentation on the graduating seniors, each having provided baby and toddler pictures of themselves, along with their senior picture. Lots of oohs and aahs on the baby shots, and then either spatters or thunders of applause as the name finally slid onto the screen to identify the victim.

I wasn't sure as I saw it, but checked later with the copy of the program they provided on CD. They misspelled the last name of one student. A Laotian name, I believe, and long, but still even I knew how to spell it. Of a Valedictorian, no less.

Speaking of Valedictorians.

We had nine.

Yes, nine. Nine students with tied grade-point averages after four years of schooling. The president of next year's senior class made his campaign by complaining about grade creep.

He may have a case.

In addition, there were four Salutatorians.

Word had gotten around the community even before it was announced in the newspaper. They would all speak at graduation.

I think a lot of parents were dreading it. But the students had promised they would keep themselves brief.

They did.

It was actually quite enjoyable. Most of these students had known each other, well, all their lives, maybe even since the hospital at their birth, so they had a lot in common. Twelve of the thirteen each took a grade of school, briefly reminiscing over what they learned, and what they felt in that grade. Progressing up to this final grade. With the 13th delivering a brief look to the future.

Then came the presentation of diplomas, which seemed to pass much quicker than it could have. With us, naturally, getting lousy video and pictures. Most students received the standard handshakes, but a few got or gave hugs as well.

I'm not sure exactly what was up with the jigsaw puzzle pieces that were passed to some students with their diploma, or why a few of them left the route to deliver their piece to a favorite instructor. But they did.

When all was said and done, there was the usual standing and deliberate passing of the tassle from the right to the left side of the board. But rather than tossing their flat hats into the air, our graduating class had other plans.

Sillystring.

Then the band struck up a fast, jazzed version of Pomp and Circumstance, and the graduated class again single filed to the front, this time passing the rows of instructors for a final review. A few breaking out of line for yet another hug with a favored teacher.

Except for two young men. One tall, the other short. Who broke from line completely, passed the teachers at almost a trot...

and picked up the instruments their lesser classmen had smuggled in for them. And joined the band for one. last. time.

They were still there when we finally reached the floor of the gym, some many minutes later.

Then it was the usual milling around, saying goodbye, for probably close to an hour. The tears, smiles and camera flashes slowly spilling up the stairs to the main hallway.

Leaving only a few stragglers, and the detritus of a celebration.