An old law-school adage says there’s three phases of your college career. First, they scare you to death. Next they work you to death, and finally they bore you to death.
The graduation ceremony, a last gasp to pack some wisdom into your already full gullet, falls into the third category.
Should commencement orations be banned? Of course not! We need to hear these speeches. They contain nuggets of wisdom that probably wouldn’t occur to you. Tips such as: be bold, work hard, and never spit into the wind.
Remember that the search committee gave a lot of thought, and spent upwards of $25 on landing the speaker, a very important and highly successful person that you’ve never heard of. This professional is, no doubt, an expert—which means he or she lives at least 150 miles away—and has traveled far to stand up there and do the heavy lifting of a keynote speech. To wit, saluting accomplishments of the assembled scholars, recognizing the sacrifices of friends and family who supported them, and imploring graduates to undertake some heroic and probably unobtainable task, like paying off their student loans or getting a job.
It’s not easy being a commencement speaker, I know. I’ve heard scores of speeches over the years both as a parent and a teacher. One or two have moved me, but the rest?
Still each year I go to salute my students. After all, it’s hard to imagine this year’s speech could be any worse than the one in 19** (date redacted). Yet often they are. Many of these intrepid souls manage to gum together a string of platitudes and clichés that make me want to leave my physical body and travel to a faraway place. Defense mechanisms kick in, and I nod off. Falling asleep at the ceremonies may be OK when you’re an infant, but it’s less favorably looked upon when you’re a faculty member sitting on the stage.
Still graduations are a good thing. They’re an opportunity to wear funny clothing and hear highly educated administrators mispronounce your name. Better yet, the ceremonies also are one of the few places in academe that allow the participants and the crowd to engage in extreme sports.
The beach-ball volley.
Yep. It’s my favorite part of the evening. Someone can be counted upon to smuggle a ball into the event. This is one of the few advantages of wearing a robe. The cut-up culprit inflates it surreptitiously, and then puts it into play. The beach ball then becomes a study in human nature. Who will resist temptation and let it drop? Who will become an accomplice-after-the-fact, and give it a swipe? Even the crowd has a choice. Half of them pretend to ignore it. The other half gleefully watches the Dean of the Misbegotten dash about, trying to grab the orb. She finally nabs it, puncturing it in one savage pencil-stab, thus putting an end to the merriment.
Until the next ball appears.
I’ve heard that some schools practically strip-search the graduates, looking for the contraband, pursuing this offense with more zeal that they do with on-campus drug searches. But I think it’s a testament to the inventiveness of the students that, no matter what, they manage to sneak them into the ceremonies.
But, feisty adolescents aside, that’s not why grownups go to graduations.
We go to honor our graduates and to partake of the first major outdoor event of the season. There’s a thrill of mystery. Will the weather be good? It’s spring after all, or will it be something else. I’ve sat through sprinkles, thunder storms, and more.
Years ago, when our oldest daughter was about three, we traveled to Los Olivos to watch a nephew graduate. My most vivid memories of that evening weren’t the words of wisdom. It was the weather, or more precisely, the Santa Ana winds. They were so bad that my daughter was terrified that her hair would blow off, a concern shared with all the toupee-wearing men in the crowd. But it did add a festive note to the event. Banners waved, and all the graduates had to place their hands firmly on their mortar boards or risk having them blow off. This gave them all the look of a person taking a field sobriety test, proving he can rub his head and tummy at the same time and still cite the names of all the presidents.
Now THAT would be a great pop quiz to spring on them during the event.
May and June graduations offer a great chance to work on your tan while getting some exercise—swatting mosquitoes. Last year, I attended two out-of-town commencements that BEGAN at 8 am. This meant arising at oh-dark-thirty, dressing, checking out of the room, finding the college, getting lost, using the college’s back entrance, locating a parking space, walking 25 miles, and then wrestling with strangers for a decent seat.
Ah, seating… the only shade was for the faculty on the stage. You, a mere parent, got your choice of sitting in the sun near an amplified speaker that rattles your bones, or sitting in the sun next to a booth selling sweatshirts at $150 dollars a pop. It occurs to me that there’s money in higher education, you just need the right concession.
We picked a place somewhere in the middle, looking for my daughter attired in clothes identical to the five billion other graduates. I realized then that this was the inspiration for game, “Where’s Waldo?” Cell phones can help a bit, but if you’re not careful you could be texting when your child’s five-seconds-of-fame occurs. But if you miss it, don’ worry. You can buy pictures for just a bit more than the cost of her tuition.
So we waited. It was only 8:15 am, but the Turlock heat began in earnest. I could feel the sweat welling up and crawling into the most uncomfortable parts of my attire. But I was distracted when a couple sat down next to us—Wilbur and Beulah from Wichita, who look even unhappier than I felt.
“Why the hell is this so early?” Wilbur asked.
“Because it’s the morning commencement,” Beulah patted him on the arm. “Hush now.”
“Why’d we get the morning slot?”
“It isn’t a train, Wilbur. Sally didn’t have a say about the time.”
“Wish it were at night.”
“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”
“Is that all you gotta say, Beulah?”
She rolled her eyes. “In front of God and America? Yes”
It’s oddly comforting to know someone is more miserable than you are. But even as the audience fidgets in the sun, I can tell you that the graduates really do get the worst of it. To really appreciate the power of perspiration, try wearing a head-to-toe synthetic sack. You get steamed-baked like a human tamale. It’s both cruel and comedic—their school serving up a last dollop of hazing.
It’s true that commencements are packed with people hoping beyond hope to hear someone utter that golden phrase.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Oops, that’s the other June event. No, what we’re waiting for are the words: “I now confer upon you the status of graduate. You may move your tassels.”
This means that the end is near. But as we all know, it’s a long way from the opening procession to the tossing of the mortar boards. To help you get there, and stay focused on the speech, as any good audience member does. I offer you a fun way to pass the time.
Buzzword bingo.
Here’s this year’s list of 20 words. You get a double-word score for any sentence that contain two of them. Triple-word score for three, and so on.
- Accomplishments
- Adversity
- Best
- Brightest
- Challenges
- Diversity
- Dreams
- Duty
- Future
- Global
- Gratitude
- Hope
- Leadership
- Obligations
- Opportunities
- Power
- Problems
- Responsibility
- Tomorrow
- Waffles (Why not? We can hope.)
So, score away, and remember when the last person crosses the stage and gets that blank roll of paper, go up and offer your graduate some heartfelt congratulations. It’s time to recognize all their hard work, to honor them, and even snap a few photos.
But don’t delay.
Unless you want three-hours of parking-lot gridlock, you’d better Move your tassels.
Robb has enjoyed writing and performing since he was a child, and many of his earliest performances earned him a special recognition-reserved seating in the principal’s office at Highland Elementary. Since then, in addition to his weekly column on A News Cafe – “Or So it Seems™” – Robb has written news and features for The Bakersfield Californian, appeared on stage as an opening stand-up act in Reno, and his writing has been published in the Funny Times. His short stories have won honorable mention national competition. His screenplay, “One Little Indian,” Was a top-ten finalist in the Writer’s Digest competition. He has two humor books in print, The Doggone Christmas List and The Stupid Minivan. Robb presently lives, writes and teaches in Shasta County, Northern California.
