Odd musings from the cheap seats at a high school graduation:
Am I weird that I would love to go back to school just to be able to wear a doctoral hood?*
Mr. B. clearly got the memo about going casual under the robes: he seems to be wearing khaki shorts and flip-flops. It goes well with the shaved head, the multiple ear piercings, and the hood from Stanford.
Miss E., the world’s hardest and best math teacher, got her doctorate from Harvard. Not surprising, really. She is not wearing flip-flops.
I can’t take these guys anywhere: my husband and other two sons are critiquing the trend of graduates decorating their caps with the name of the college where they are bound. Loudly. Ignoring the hostile backward glances from the couple in front of us, whom I know from having heard conversations between them earlier have a daughter sporting “UC Davis” on hers.
Cute quip from the student MCs about theirs being the last class to graduate from the High School. Take that, Mayans.
I wonder how many times across the country Steve Jobs will be quoted in high school commencement speeches. There have been two quotes here this evening, both from Jobs’s Stanford Commencement speech. Hey, people at the school are clearly into recycling.**
They must have sent a memo around saying “short speeches!” I don’t think one has topped five minutes yet.
It’s cool that they let the kids sit with their friends rather than alphabetically. Makes it harder to tell how far along they are, however — you have to actually pay attention.
Aaaannnnnddd…. there he goes. Another kid graduated. I feel old.
Aaaannnnnddd…. that’s the lot of them. The Class of 2012 is out. Time to head to the quad for free food.
Next year, the eldest graduates from college. Then I’ll feel really old.
Sufficient unto the day the commencement thereof, however.
*I guess I wore a doctoral hood at my law school graduation; I don’t really remember it at all. I was four months pregnant, throwing up frequently, and severely dehydrated. I was down in the basement of the law school throwing up in the women’s room when I heard two little old ladies out in the hall complaining about graduates being drunk midday. They decided to complain to the very nice woman in Alumni Relations, who poked her head in the bathroom and asked, “Pat? Is that you?” I groaned in affirmation, and I heard her telling the old biddies “She’s not drunk, she’s pregnant,” and then urging them to go away and leave me alone. Later that afternoon, I went to the E.R. (for neither the first nor the last time during that pregnancy) and was admitted for a four-day hospital stay. So yes, I really wish I could have a do-over on that graduation.
**They are, actually. The school’s “Green Team” won an award for their environmental efforts.