The end. That’s my favorite part of ceremonies.
Take MBU’s graduation.
Sunday’s ritual came off in style, one I’ve seen replayed 15 times, give or take an academic rite of passage or two.
The Stonewall Brigade played the standards, “pomp-ular” tunes for the occasion. Sunny circumstances allowed the crowd of onlookers to roost on the hill overlooking the procession of graduates at the center of campus. Speechifying was brief. Diplomas passed smoothly from administrators to graduates on the dais in front of Grafton Library.
Beats the inside of an auditorium any day — any day that’s dry….
I especially enjoyed seeing the multiplication of graduate students matriculating from Baldwin. They are one of several signs that the university has bounced back from turbulent times just 18 months ago. A recent $10 million gift to the U also lifted spirits and confidence, if not salaries.
A good show, but give me the final scene.
For the recessional, the faculty exit stage right. We then line both sides of a steep stairway that leads to the top of the hill.
Robbed and hatted in black, we create the higher education equivalent of the cheerleaders who shake their pompoms as football players charge onto the field at game time. A sort of “Go Graduates!” without the somersaults and yelling.
Newly minted alumni file by, two by two, thru the tunnel of scholarly regalia. We wish that they all could live happily ever after. Even those who tested us.
We show our respect for their accomplishment: hand shakes, high fives, hugs, and words of encouragement or thanks. Educators are in the profession for the outcomes, not the income. These parting moments count as an annual mini-bonus.
A few days later, our family drove to the Eastern Mennonite U’s Commons. You could park an Airbus inside that auditorium/sports complex.
My folks traveled 1,250 miles to witness their grandson’s graduation done “The Indian Way.” His “bunica” from Romania flew 5,000. Combined, the grandparents earned 7,500 frequent flyer miles. Our bleacher seats were half a mile from the sheepskin handoffs to the 180 seniors.
My mother-in-law, a professor emeritus of agriculture, delivered a lecture to our senior when he announced at breakfast, that graduation “…really isn’t that big a deal for me.”
“This is an important milestone, a turning point in your life, an occasion of decorum to show respect for your teachers and the school,” bunica expounded. He diplomatically nodded. I kept my opinion about pomp and set pieces to myself.
Once the caps flew our reunion party was all smiles and warm feeling, thankful for the occasion that brought us together. Ceremony curmudgeon’s included. I’m proud, too, that the Fort graduate starts college at MBU next fall.
For spectacle the cap and gown events fell short of Harry and Megan’s big day. But you should’ve been there: if only to see senior Leo “Groucho” Gonzalez lovingly rub Principal Landes’ pate, before he bussed the Indian’s chief on the noggin, and accepting his diploma.
Not that I endorse such improvisational behavior! Such a breach of protocol! Queen forbid!