commencement weekend

Noon-thirty, the graduates just beginning to assemble for the procession.

The wanderers — one of my favorite things about graduation day. It is quiet over at my end of campus on commencement morning.  On my way in I see the staff setting up the tents and stands and chairs for the ceremony in the stadium, and I hear the band rehearsing: all satisfying, watching the pieces falling into place to make this day happen. Then I scoot to my concert hall and putter around getting things set up for the Physical Therapy PhD hooding ceremony.  It is one day of the year that I get to interact with that department and they are a happy bunch.

Regardless of the weather, it is always stuffy in my building, so I prop open all the doors to get the air moving.  That means that folks, the grandparents and parents and siblings who are waiting for something to happen, will poke their heads in to take a peek, say hello.  The wanderers.  It is a wonderful thing to see all those students' families descend on campus, to see those students as part of a constellation of relationships.  

Once I glanced up just in time to see two beautiful young women glide past the open side door to the concert hall, hair and makeup perfect, caps at a jaunty angle, bare legs impossibly long, their gowns open and fluttering behind them.

I like the quiet time between the big things, this liminal time after finals and before the ceremony.

Of course, there are folks on campus who do not have the privilege of savoring the quiet moments.  Our media and tech people, for instance, run from event to event averting disaster.  I accidentally stood up a fantastic gal from Media who had scheduled time very early this morning, her only free time, but earlier than I arrived, to help with the projection screen and sound check.  She is a former prison guard and biker chick, no nonsense, highly efficient and productive.  When I realized my mistake, of course I felt terrible.  Not because she is a tiny bit intimidating, although she is that, but because I don't want to be a jerk.  

("Wow," a faculty friend commented when I confessed.  "She must be coming to the conclusion that you're a total slacker fuck-up, which is really only half true."  Indeed.)

Yesterday we had an extra event prior to Academic Convocation, an early lecture by a super famous guy.  The usual ratio of boredom (98%) to sheer, unadulterated panic (2%) was inverted, and riding the faders was pretty much nonstop terror.  So I guess I felt like all the hard stuff was done, and this last event today would be easy-peasey and I moseyed in, relaxed, early, but not early enough.

So, yes, that faux pas on my part is a stain on an otherwise good day. 

And the best part of this day? The babies. So many babies!  The cooing and squealing happened without fail, as if on cue, at the most appropriate moments. Bravo, babies!

Roger, a professor from the PT department always chats with me in the booth.  We have a camaraderie, this funny familiarity, our once-a-year meeting.  As we were walking together along the balcony that overlooks the lobby we counted at least five babies, one brand new.  That reminded me of the little Facebook updates my writer friend Michael makes about his little one, his insightful observations.  I mentioned this to Roger, explaining that Michael has the eye of a naturalist.  He chuckled.  "Observations?  Does he put the baby across the room and watch through binoculars?"

I can't think of many other events in our culture where this intergenerational gathering happens on such a grand scale.  The players take turns in the roles, younger siblings often themselves follow along and come to school here, graduates grow up and their children and grandchildren take their turns processing.  And next year I won't just be watching, but it will be my turn to be the mother of a college graduate.

Today I heard a child call out to a crowd of students decked out in their regalia: "Rock on!"  

Rock on.