My daughter graduated from high school last week. We weren’t sure she was going to graduate
until the very last day of school, so no invitations were sent out and a lot of
stressful scrambling took place trying to lasso relatives. Most kids take for granted they are
graduating but for Krista this was an extra special event because she struggled
so hard to make it happen. Her dad and I
had feared the worst. If she didn’t
graduate she would be banned from sharing this important ceremony with her
friends. But she made it. And we were all there, even her beloved
relatives from out of town.
The last time I attended a graduation ceremony was for my
nephew 10 years earlier in this same school.
My daughter was 8 and my son was 7 at the time. My sister also had a 7 year old son and a 2
year old daughter. We sat high up in the
bleachers admonishing our younger ones to sit still and act solemnly (Ha!) during the
ceremony. Now my beautiful daughter is
an adult (18), sitting in the rows of chairs waiting to be called to receive her diploma. Our young sons are now big
strapping, handsome teenage boys and the baby girl is a lovely young lady. I kept putting one foot in the time portal,
seeing my kids as they were back then, all cute and innocent, and coming back
into the present to see these tall beings on their way to adulthood.
I don’t remember it being this crowded last time. (Population explosion?) The parking lot was full 45 minutes before
the start of the event and we were forced to scrounge for parking spots way,
way up the street. Then there was a huge
line to wait in that wrapped all the way around the parking lot. When we finally got inside the gates, we discovered
there was nowhere left to sit. The fence
in front of us was covered with graduation balloon bouquets. At first we stood at the fence, batting
balloons out of our faces, trying to look for Krista. Then we found a different area of fence with
no balloons and, although we had to stand, had a clear view of the field of
chairs and giddy teenagers. Poignant speeches
were made and one by one each name was called and students lined up to climb
the stage stairs and accept their diplomas.
What a thrill to see Krista’s beaming face as she walked to the
stage. After everyone’s name was called,
they were instructed to turn their tassels to the left side and then everyone
threw their hats high into the air, a symbolic gesture as proof they were now
graduates. Krista ran to greet us at the
fence for copious hugs, kisses and picture taking. She was ecstatic to see her cousins, aunt and
uncle. The cousins jumped the fence and
took turns taking pictures together.
Then Krista disappeared for a while, swallowed up in her group of joyous
friends. Our relatives had to leave; it
was still a school night for them, and we searched the sea of young faces for
our daughter. Of course this was a once
in a lifetime, monumental occasion, one she should be allowed to relish without
hurry, but we were late for dinner reservations and her dad was worried about
his car getting towed. This explains his
odd behavior. I watched from the
sidelines in amused horror as Mike ran frantically through the field, hands
waving, looking like a Tasmanian devil as he yelled, “KRISTA! KRISTA!” at the top of his lungs. Of course she was mortified.
We took her to our favorite restaurant, The Brigantine, and showered her with graduation balloons, flowers and cards. It was late, we were starving and exhausted, and elated. Also relieved. Very, very relieved.
Happy Graduation Day, Sweetheart.
