I went to my granddaughter’s high school graduation the other day. I also submitted a a written article for my high school (RHS ’57) class newsletter. With the class of ’23 fresh in my mind I was reminded of things I seldom think about. Sixty six years is a long reach for an overburdened memory. But back then our big ‘Hurrah’ featured a very serious, somber processional, lots of ceremony and an equally sober recessional before we started acting goofy in the the lobby: I remember all of that. Sandwiched in between an insufferable invocation and a dreadful benediction, accomplished speakers addressed a captive audience.
By current standards my school was small, graduating (80) seniors was about average. It wasn’t normal for a tornado to destroy the high school building the night before the ceremony and that did complicate everything. Three nights later a nearby high school let us use their auditorium for the ceremony. The storm and its impact on the community certainly offset a high school graduation’s influence but it was then and still is a once in a lifetime benchmark. It is the day young adults weigh anchor (supposedly) on the journey of their life.
The first big discrepancy I noticed between the two graduations was time and numbers. My granddaughter’s ceremony spent most of the time passing out diplomas and not so much listening to deadly oratory. With 450 seniors to honor and bestow, nobody cared much for a lecture on timely prudence, noble ambition or squandered opportunity. The next thing to jog my moment was the crowd ‘crush’ that oozed out of the soccer stadium and toward the parking lot. Finding your graduate in the crowd was made easy with smart phone & GPS but it was still a lot of strangers in cramped touchy-feely space. What kept the ‘crush’ in proper character was the excitement of so many new graduates, all searching for best friends and favorite people to capture perfectly posed selfies. ‘Excitement’ is the best word, the catalyst for a bittersweet, last time they would all be together. For me, graduation has always been a déjà vu thing. I spent 35 years in the business and the end of the school year is like reaching the next landing on a long staircase, a brief respite to savor something you’ve come to love and then let it go. Soon enough a new group of seniors will inherit their own mantle, grow up in spite of themselves and dance together again for the last time.
As a long suffering contributor to my own class newsletter I am afraid that genuine excitement we generated so many years ago has worn thin. My classmates from 1957 have been preoccupied with their own reality Netflix series, one that won’t run out of episodes until none of us are left. Age has a way of letting the air out of your ballon. Abraham Lincoln said, “People are about as happy as they choose to be.” I’ve been choosing 8’s all along and it works but 9's and 10's are out of the question. Now that I have a few spare dollars, sky diving has lost its allure and my eyesight does not allow for tying my own fishing lures. Nearly half of my graduating class has passed on and they’re not coming back. The ones who still want to restore 1967 and 1985, the good old days when the world was a better place: I hate to spoil that myth but we were young then and that was what made it good. We can rub shoulders now and be friends but what they believe, about who takes credit and who takes the blame is about them and I don’t want to trade places with any of them.
I have another granddaughter who will graduate in two years. She is a sweetheart too and I will be in the soccer stadium again for her outrageous selfies, throwing hats in the air and proud parents looking for the car in the super-size parking lot. George Bernard Shaw (Irish Playwright) said, more or less; The most wonderful thing in life is youth and it’s a shame that it is wasted on the young. I think otherwise. If our journey had been charted with Shaw’s experience and hindsight then our lives might be as dull and lackluster as his comment. I will keep writing for my class’s newsletter; nobody else wants to send in selfies. I never heard of George Bernard Shaw before college; must have left him there as I haven’t thought about him since. The beauty of old age is that we are still here and I am still sitting on an (8). The truth after 66 years is that maturity loses its edge and that 'Wisdom' is a moving target.
By current standards my school was small, graduating (80) seniors was about average. It wasn’t normal for a tornado to destroy the high school building the night before the ceremony and that did complicate everything. Three nights later a nearby high school let us use their auditorium for the ceremony. The storm and its impact on the community certainly offset a high school graduation’s influence but it was then and still is a once in a lifetime benchmark. It is the day young adults weigh anchor (supposedly) on the journey of their life.
The first big discrepancy I noticed between the two graduations was time and numbers. My granddaughter’s ceremony spent most of the time passing out diplomas and not so much listening to deadly oratory. With 450 seniors to honor and bestow, nobody cared much for a lecture on timely prudence, noble ambition or squandered opportunity. The next thing to jog my moment was the crowd ‘crush’ that oozed out of the soccer stadium and toward the parking lot. Finding your graduate in the crowd was made easy with smart phone & GPS but it was still a lot of strangers in cramped touchy-feely space. What kept the ‘crush’ in proper character was the excitement of so many new graduates, all searching for best friends and favorite people to capture perfectly posed selfies. ‘Excitement’ is the best word, the catalyst for a bittersweet, last time they would all be together. For me, graduation has always been a déjà vu thing. I spent 35 years in the business and the end of the school year is like reaching the next landing on a long staircase, a brief respite to savor something you’ve come to love and then let it go. Soon enough a new group of seniors will inherit their own mantle, grow up in spite of themselves and dance together again for the last time.
As a long suffering contributor to my own class newsletter I am afraid that genuine excitement we generated so many years ago has worn thin. My classmates from 1957 have been preoccupied with their own reality Netflix series, one that won’t run out of episodes until none of us are left. Age has a way of letting the air out of your ballon. Abraham Lincoln said, “People are about as happy as they choose to be.” I’ve been choosing 8’s all along and it works but 9's and 10's are out of the question. Now that I have a few spare dollars, sky diving has lost its allure and my eyesight does not allow for tying my own fishing lures. Nearly half of my graduating class has passed on and they’re not coming back. The ones who still want to restore 1967 and 1985, the good old days when the world was a better place: I hate to spoil that myth but we were young then and that was what made it good. We can rub shoulders now and be friends but what they believe, about who takes credit and who takes the blame is about them and I don’t want to trade places with any of them.
I have another granddaughter who will graduate in two years. She is a sweetheart too and I will be in the soccer stadium again for her outrageous selfies, throwing hats in the air and proud parents looking for the car in the super-size parking lot. George Bernard Shaw (Irish Playwright) said, more or less; The most wonderful thing in life is youth and it’s a shame that it is wasted on the young. I think otherwise. If our journey had been charted with Shaw’s experience and hindsight then our lives might be as dull and lackluster as his comment. I will keep writing for my class’s newsletter; nobody else wants to send in selfies. I never heard of George Bernard Shaw before college; must have left him there as I haven’t thought about him since. The beauty of old age is that we are still here and I am still sitting on an (8). The truth after 66 years is that maturity loses its edge and that 'Wisdom' is a moving target.
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