I was doing some calculations. As it turns out, I have two soapboxes left to rant upon in this fine publication, so I'd better make the most of them. Because after that, it's graduation time.
What a great time, graduation. I personally have several family members coming from all corners of the country (two corners of the country) to this sleepy little hamlet to see me off on my journey into uncertainty that they call life after school if you haven't got a job. To be perfectly clear, I am flattered that they would come all the way up/down here for me, and it promises to be an enjoyable time. The nice restaurants, the toasts, the congratulations and money and stuff -- how could you not like it? This is the stuff graduation is made of. Well, I guess, it's more like the stuff that the stuff surrounding graduation is made of. What is graduation itself?
Graduation itself is a long, boring ceremony that can be really hot, really rainy or both if it's outdoors, which it is. The last one I was a part of (not counting Semester at Sea, because that graduation was sort of enjoyable and would subvert my point) consisted of me being separated from my friends to sit between two dudes who were just before and after me in the alphabet. We all wore funny robes and even funnier hats, but any sort of fun objects we attempted to smuggle in under said robes (playing cards, GameBoys, etc.) were summarily confiscated. This was a ceremony honoring us, dammit! The least we could do was pay attention. Who were we paying attention to? Some guy I've never heard of. I didn't volunteer or ask to listen to his advice about what I had to do to live my life well. When the people near me took out a beach ball and started inflating it to do that thing they do at graduations where they bounce the ball around the seated class of 200_, it was quickly spotted and taken away by the guy filming the ceremony. As he pressed his shoe on it, the air slowly psshed out and, at that moment, a question began festering in my mind.
I guess that question would be: What part of our psychology compels us to honor milestones in our life with lengthy, pointless and boring services? Not just academically speaking, but religiously, politically, blah blah blah. I'll be the first to admit to not being a robotic, purely rational being. Hell, I'm watching TV and playing video games as we speak. And while those things may be pointless, at least they're fun to do! People at graduations aren't having fun. Aside from being bored, the only other thing that's happening is that perhaps they're getting emotional, but why do you need to commemorate that in a funny robe and a funnier hat? Technically, the thing is about getting your diploma. I worked for a bunch of years for this piece of paper that is the only useful physical proof that I continued the educational process past high school. Now I have to wait for you to go through the entire alphabet until you get to S, too? That's cold, man. Just send it in the mail. If my family's here for my sake, I would really rather spend time with them than make them sit through this stuff. And I can't even sit near them? Man.
Oh, well. I probably sound like a terrible person decrying these events of such great significance, anyway. Seriously, though, I always spend the entirety of these things thinking of how I'm going to make fun of what the speakers are saying or how they are saying it with my friends afterwards. On the off-chance that the speaker actually has something compelling to say and says it well, he pretty much always goes on with it way too long, because he's obligated to, because graduations are designed to be uncomfortably long. Maybe if I bring a book this time, they won't take it away. We're adults now and have every right to be disrespectful.
So that's what I've got to say about that. If I start my own school, graduations will be fun, with clowns and face painting and stuff, and instead of robes and caps, there will be a theme, like 80s or golf pros and tennis hos. If I get married, maybe we'll have karaoke or something instead of some sort of religious officer. But that's comfortably far off in the distance. For now, I'm gonna see if I can convince my friends to form some sort of flash-mob gospel choir. Might as well get some mileage out of these goofy robes.
Erik's column runs biweekly Tuesdays. He can be reached at silk@cavalierdaily.com.
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