Pomp and Circumstance
This weekend marked the beginning of college commencements and the premiere of one of my favorite shows on C-Span. Okay, I don’t really have an extensive list of shows on C-Span that I love, but the compilation of commencement speeches by famous politicians, writers, and others (sometimes actors, sometimes scientists) is a once-yearly program that I thoroughly enjoy. The three times that I was pregnant during the spring and unable to sleep through the night, I would sometimes lie on the couch and flip through all of the channels desperate for something to watch, something that would distract me from worrying whether baby #1 (or 2) would feel disenfranchised by the arrival of baby #2 (or 3). In a public service that I feel has not previously been properly acknowledged, C-Span collects video of commencement addresses and runs them for an hour or two during its off hours.
Back in the day (well okay, 3 years ago), I used these speeches to calm my fears for my children. Sometimes when I interact with other parents enough, and read Newsweek enough, I feel like no one is looking out for my kids but me (and of course the HP and our immediate families). I feel encouraged to hear that people in government or the arts still appreciate the kids coming up behind them and look forward to viewing their contribution to the future. Each of these speakers is agreeing to spend some time motivating and supporting graduates, not because of family loyalty or hope of financial gain, but because she doesn’t think wishing graduates well will somehow lessen her ability to be successful. That is an attitude that borders on the un-American these days.
No matter how old I am and how far removed from college I am, a college commencement speech is always inspirational to me. Perhaps there are other rapidly aging mothers out there who listen as I do, as someone who has long since graduated and yet has still not found a career that I want for a career. I use the encouragement and the perspectives that successful people offer graduates to try to push myself to consider the future differently, to think about what’s possible, to try to believe that I am the one who can take my future and make it what I want. Listening to the advice, the warnings, the suggestions from people who have achieved greatness (or some measure of it) in this country always transports me back to my college graduation (more on this later). I can imagine the seniors sitting in the audience, some of them hung over and having been up all night, who don’t yet quite realize the change that is about to come.
So can you picture me there, dressed in my cap and gown, soaking in the wisdom of my commencement speaker? Neither can I. First of all, my commencement cap and gown ensemble was clearly intended for someone who was 6 feet 4 inches rather than 5 feet 4 inches. It completely enveloped me and dragged across the grass so that I was in constant fear of tripping over it. Fortunately, I was not in fear that my hat would fall off because: 1) I have a huge head; and 2) my friend LT loaned me one of her three bobby pins to secure my hat. The securing of my hat is a memorable moment, because as I was complaining to a four-year acquaintance of mine (who I won’t single out here except to say that her name was Christine) that I had no way to make sure my hat didn’t fall off, she looked at me and said “Oh, that’s stinks.” When I looked up at her, I noticed that her hat was completely encircled by bobby pins. That’s how you know who your friends are, not to get all biblical or anything, but your friends will give to you from what little they have, and the other people will shrug as your hat falls off your head on graduation day.
We had arrived at the staging area on graduation day after a rather severe night of partying. As I imagine is the case for many people, a few of my close friends and I found ourselves at Denny’s eating breakfast with some people we barely knew. Suddenly we were all close, because we were all undergoing the same huge upheaval on the same day. We all agreed that we would go home, shower, get dressed and meet back at my apartment for champagne before the ceremony. I don’t remember how many of the group made it there, but I do remember my friend Doreen and I calling each other repeatedly to make sure that we didn’t fall asleep and miss graduation. When we were both dressed, she came down to my apartment and we lay down on my bed to wait for the guests, and probably would have slept there all day if we hadn’t had 5 other housemates looking after us. Eventually we all set out into the blazing sun to make the trek to the stadium and graduation. The sun was an absolutely unfair development, because all of Cape Week and Senior Week had been freezing cold, and now that we could all use a bracing stiff breeze, instead we got a hangover-inducing beatdown courtesy of the sun. We had walked to the end of our street when we realized we had forgotten the roses that Doreen’s mom had sent for us to carry as we processed in, so we all turned around and went back for them, a straggle that drained the last bit of energy we had left.
I remember lining up and marching into the stadium. When I looked behind me, the crowd was a sea of waving relatives who didn’t realize that everyone else was looking and waving at someone else. I remember being sort of proud to have a Chemistry sash instead of a liberal arts one (although the color was awful), and I remember the sun beating down. I remember I felt sort of bad because I knew that if my mom managed to pick me out in the expanse of graduates, she would likely spend much of the ceremony worrying about the sunburn that was rapidly spreading across the back of my neck. Who was the commencement speaker? I’m not entirely sure. I think he was a Jesuit named Father Healy who was the president (or former president) of Georgetown University. All I know is that he was brain-numbingly (no, that’s the wrong word, I would have done anything for brain-numbing at that point) fingernail-yanking, torturously boring. Bear in mind that this is my memory of his speech, if I saw it replayed on C-Span this weekend, it might have brought a tear to my eye. Our valedictorian was a guy named Mo (really, his name was Maurice) who was somewhat engaging, but nowhere near as entertaining as we’d all expected him to be (I guess we weren’t really considering that he had to write a speech to please the administration, graduates, and thousands of family members in attendance).
I remember showing my namecard to the lady who was making sure we were all in alphabetical order, and then navigating the stairs very carefully since I was hungover/slightly drunk, dabbling in heat exhaustion, and wearing a gown for someone a full foot taller than me. I heard my name, and I remember shaking hands with the president of the college since it was the first and only occasion I ever came in contact with him. I remember feeling happy when I heard my friends and family cheer for me, and then I remember just sitting in my seat and crying, waiting for the ceremony to end. I was overwhelmed by everything that had happened, the exhaustion, the sunburn, and the friends who had gotten me through the four years and across the stage with my hat on my head.
The rest of the day is a blur. My parents and my sister and I all went out to lunch with one of my aunts and my grandmother. My parents dropped me back at my apartment to pack up, and I was alone because my roommate had gone home with her parents and was coming back later to get all of her stuff. I didn’t even want to pack my stuff, I wanted to leave it and get on with something new (of course being a rather frugal, sensible girl, I would never have been so romantic as to make such a dramatic break with my sheets and towels). Doreen and I talked about going to a party down the street, but all I wanted was to go to bed and get clear of that house. I couldn’t let the long goodbye go on any longer. I wanted to be back in Washington where I could clear my head and somehow make sense of everything that had happened in those last few weeks of college. In a final act of irresponsibility, I never turned in my enormous cap and gown; I left it hanging in the window of my apartment. I imagine one of my friends or roommates must have turned it in (as far as I know my parents were never billed for it), but I didn't have the strength to go back on campus and see anyone else.
Of course, once I was well into the summer, I couldn’t wait to get back to my friends and carry on the way we had in school. I was worried about getting a job, traveling, getting into graduate school, finding a boyfriend, finding a party, all kinds of things that a commencement speaker glosses over as he offers advice on what should come next. If I had been listening, I would have known that I should have been spending that time deciding what I was going to do with my life, how I would make a difference, how I could be a “Person for Others” in the grand Jesuit tradition. Well, though college is a rather distant memory, I find myself finally ready to listen and to take the advice of people who are smarter and more lucid than I am. It’s time to decide what else I’m going to do with my life. And so I shall. For right now, I’m going to turn on C-Span.
Back in the day (well okay, 3 years ago), I used these speeches to calm my fears for my children. Sometimes when I interact with other parents enough, and read Newsweek enough, I feel like no one is looking out for my kids but me (and of course the HP and our immediate families). I feel encouraged to hear that people in government or the arts still appreciate the kids coming up behind them and look forward to viewing their contribution to the future. Each of these speakers is agreeing to spend some time motivating and supporting graduates, not because of family loyalty or hope of financial gain, but because she doesn’t think wishing graduates well will somehow lessen her ability to be successful. That is an attitude that borders on the un-American these days.
No matter how old I am and how far removed from college I am, a college commencement speech is always inspirational to me. Perhaps there are other rapidly aging mothers out there who listen as I do, as someone who has long since graduated and yet has still not found a career that I want for a career. I use the encouragement and the perspectives that successful people offer graduates to try to push myself to consider the future differently, to think about what’s possible, to try to believe that I am the one who can take my future and make it what I want. Listening to the advice, the warnings, the suggestions from people who have achieved greatness (or some measure of it) in this country always transports me back to my college graduation (more on this later). I can imagine the seniors sitting in the audience, some of them hung over and having been up all night, who don’t yet quite realize the change that is about to come.
So can you picture me there, dressed in my cap and gown, soaking in the wisdom of my commencement speaker? Neither can I. First of all, my commencement cap and gown ensemble was clearly intended for someone who was 6 feet 4 inches rather than 5 feet 4 inches. It completely enveloped me and dragged across the grass so that I was in constant fear of tripping over it. Fortunately, I was not in fear that my hat would fall off because: 1) I have a huge head; and 2) my friend LT loaned me one of her three bobby pins to secure my hat. The securing of my hat is a memorable moment, because as I was complaining to a four-year acquaintance of mine (who I won’t single out here except to say that her name was Christine) that I had no way to make sure my hat didn’t fall off, she looked at me and said “Oh, that’s stinks.” When I looked up at her, I noticed that her hat was completely encircled by bobby pins. That’s how you know who your friends are, not to get all biblical or anything, but your friends will give to you from what little they have, and the other people will shrug as your hat falls off your head on graduation day.
We had arrived at the staging area on graduation day after a rather severe night of partying. As I imagine is the case for many people, a few of my close friends and I found ourselves at Denny’s eating breakfast with some people we barely knew. Suddenly we were all close, because we were all undergoing the same huge upheaval on the same day. We all agreed that we would go home, shower, get dressed and meet back at my apartment for champagne before the ceremony. I don’t remember how many of the group made it there, but I do remember my friend Doreen and I calling each other repeatedly to make sure that we didn’t fall asleep and miss graduation. When we were both dressed, she came down to my apartment and we lay down on my bed to wait for the guests, and probably would have slept there all day if we hadn’t had 5 other housemates looking after us. Eventually we all set out into the blazing sun to make the trek to the stadium and graduation. The sun was an absolutely unfair development, because all of Cape Week and Senior Week had been freezing cold, and now that we could all use a bracing stiff breeze, instead we got a hangover-inducing beatdown courtesy of the sun. We had walked to the end of our street when we realized we had forgotten the roses that Doreen’s mom had sent for us to carry as we processed in, so we all turned around and went back for them, a straggle that drained the last bit of energy we had left.
I remember lining up and marching into the stadium. When I looked behind me, the crowd was a sea of waving relatives who didn’t realize that everyone else was looking and waving at someone else. I remember being sort of proud to have a Chemistry sash instead of a liberal arts one (although the color was awful), and I remember the sun beating down. I remember I felt sort of bad because I knew that if my mom managed to pick me out in the expanse of graduates, she would likely spend much of the ceremony worrying about the sunburn that was rapidly spreading across the back of my neck. Who was the commencement speaker? I’m not entirely sure. I think he was a Jesuit named Father Healy who was the president (or former president) of Georgetown University. All I know is that he was brain-numbingly (no, that’s the wrong word, I would have done anything for brain-numbing at that point) fingernail-yanking, torturously boring. Bear in mind that this is my memory of his speech, if I saw it replayed on C-Span this weekend, it might have brought a tear to my eye. Our valedictorian was a guy named Mo (really, his name was Maurice) who was somewhat engaging, but nowhere near as entertaining as we’d all expected him to be (I guess we weren’t really considering that he had to write a speech to please the administration, graduates, and thousands of family members in attendance).
I remember showing my namecard to the lady who was making sure we were all in alphabetical order, and then navigating the stairs very carefully since I was hungover/slightly drunk, dabbling in heat exhaustion, and wearing a gown for someone a full foot taller than me. I heard my name, and I remember shaking hands with the president of the college since it was the first and only occasion I ever came in contact with him. I remember feeling happy when I heard my friends and family cheer for me, and then I remember just sitting in my seat and crying, waiting for the ceremony to end. I was overwhelmed by everything that had happened, the exhaustion, the sunburn, and the friends who had gotten me through the four years and across the stage with my hat on my head.
The rest of the day is a blur. My parents and my sister and I all went out to lunch with one of my aunts and my grandmother. My parents dropped me back at my apartment to pack up, and I was alone because my roommate had gone home with her parents and was coming back later to get all of her stuff. I didn’t even want to pack my stuff, I wanted to leave it and get on with something new (of course being a rather frugal, sensible girl, I would never have been so romantic as to make such a dramatic break with my sheets and towels). Doreen and I talked about going to a party down the street, but all I wanted was to go to bed and get clear of that house. I couldn’t let the long goodbye go on any longer. I wanted to be back in Washington where I could clear my head and somehow make sense of everything that had happened in those last few weeks of college. In a final act of irresponsibility, I never turned in my enormous cap and gown; I left it hanging in the window of my apartment. I imagine one of my friends or roommates must have turned it in (as far as I know my parents were never billed for it), but I didn't have the strength to go back on campus and see anyone else.
Of course, once I was well into the summer, I couldn’t wait to get back to my friends and carry on the way we had in school. I was worried about getting a job, traveling, getting into graduate school, finding a boyfriend, finding a party, all kinds of things that a commencement speaker glosses over as he offers advice on what should come next. If I had been listening, I would have known that I should have been spending that time deciding what I was going to do with my life, how I would make a difference, how I could be a “Person for Others” in the grand Jesuit tradition. Well, though college is a rather distant memory, I find myself finally ready to listen and to take the advice of people who are smarter and more lucid than I am. It’s time to decide what else I’m going to do with my life. And so I shall. For right now, I’m going to turn on C-Span.
posted by Shannon at 10:28 PM
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