Graduation

I sat through graduation ceremonies for my school last night, and really, all things considered, it wasn’t bad; the evening moved along relatively quickly and, as a matter of fact, the proceedings were very sweet and quite touching at times.

It’s charming to me how classically scripted the event is: faculty in their ceremonial robes, “Pomp and Circumstance” playing as we enter, the college President giving a standard speech with all manner of inspirational quotes about seizing the day and making a better future for the world.

Several students spoke and their words, if occasionally somewhat trite, were from the heart; I even got misty-eyed a few times when they talked about how much they’d learned as Cascadia and what their time at our school has meant to their lives and dreams.

In the long slog through the school year, it’s all too easy for me to forget that for lots of students, the experience represents a life-changing (or at least life-affirming) opportunity; it’s good to be reminded that what we’re doing as teachers isn’t simply moving young people through a rote process that ends with little more than an official piece of paper. We actually are helping to provide opportunities for students to craft lives that they want to live.

Now, I’m sounding like a graduation speaker myself. (In fact, I’ve done that twice: first, at my graduation from the U of Minnesota, I was the student speaker; and then, a couple years ago I was the faculty speaker at Cascadia’s ceremonies.)

Do I have any sage advice for the graduates this time around? Typically, my advice is the paradoxical admonition not to take anyone’s advice.

Today, though, I’ll simply point out that one of the meanings of the term “graduate” is a cylindrical or tapering container; all graduates, therefore, should regard themselves in their bathroom mirrors to determine whether their education has made them tapering cylinders.

To which I say bless their pointy little heads.