To witness the traditional ceremonial tassel shift of my son and his girlfriend, we gathered on the last Sunday in May. Each name was called, each grad walked across a stage, and each stopped twice for a photo and handshake then, a token–computer Science mug filled with chocolate. When two names were called, the collective hoot and holler, and screams of their names filled the gym. Smiles or let tears came, or both. Go Class 2023!
A few weeks earlier, I pressed into party planning. When my daughter, my son’s girlfriend and I begin to plan, I half-expect my graduating son to balk. He knows family celebrations are part of our culture–my abuela paid for a band of mariachis when I graduated from Stanford with my Masters! Maybe he was worried I’d make a huge fuss since the last time he graduated, I’d organized one for our homeschool community program (he played in the band for that one). While I was determined to have a special evening with people ready to honor their accomplishments, I was certainly open to a simple affair. But not a “No.”
“Why should anyone celebrate graduating from college?” As I reiterated that his graduation is an accomplishment (and reminded him of family culture), he fed me the headlines: the empty promises and high price of a college education, overwhelming loan debt, the unprepared teachers who guard the gate instead of guiding learners onto the next step and more. Having been an autodidact from the get-go, he has honed skills of finding his own educational resources which in turn has lead him to set high expectations for those who purport to teach in exchange for money.
“It’s a scam,” he tells me. “Colleges take people’s money, professors give short-shrift to the goals of learning, and business interests drive the crazy bus.” For the amount paid to the university, he envisioned better. He expected better. He deserved better. To be clear, he has had some excellent teachers. I hear in his disappointment and anger the disparity between the time and energy he put in and what he hoped and didn’t to get out of his university experience.
We both wonder if an education has become little more than receiving a piece of paper. Does a college diploma merely offer proof that we can endure four years of varied inefficiency, of jumping hoops, and surviving? Are we clinging desperately to an outdated, outmoded tradition because we haven’t figured out how to adapt?
Without solution or answer, I listen, validating his concerns. I offer my weak hope that education still means something, and that our society will once again re-invest in its future. And I insist that a celebration is just as important as the work we do.
Besides my daughter deserved a graduation. The pandemic stole this singular privilege from her and so many others. To see her cross such a stage, to scream her name with my pride, and to flood her with celebration would’ve been one of life’s greatest hits. Even more so, she received little family acknowledgement of her graduation– and she put in as much, if not more, effort than her brother! The planning was for her, too. She loves planning parties and enjoys spotlights and such things: over the top, happy events stuffed with cheery balloons, good music, and lots of special touches. She’s my Gothic-Romance-tea-party-Halloween-extravaganza-Christmas-décor comes-out-in-November-kind of gal.
Her brother is the opposite type. He has been a can-we-skip-cake-and-the-fuss kind of guy. One Christmas, he boycotted the holiday, spending the day in his room. Conformity and consumerism annoy him. Regularly skipping out on birthdays (a family basic), avoiding most parties, and having trouble giving himself credit for his efforts all add up to the question of a party. And while his critical observations are often on target, such dark thoughts can overwhelm us almost as much as large crowds can an introvert.
Could I convince him? “Then we’ll celebrate the end of the scam?” I suggested. It’d be different kind of evening. We’d have a party that releases the hold that that the chaos of a disconnected pandemic-interrupted education has had on us. We’d look forward. We’d acknowledge problems but leave off wrestling with them for just a moment. We’d drink not to how far we have to go, but how far we’ve come.
Finally, the day came with the loudest of joyful whooping from a large group of friends and two families (his girlfriend’s), especially our daughter. She stood with her new husband cheering for and snapping pics of her little brother. The sight mended my heart. And her brother had a big smile on his face!
Later that day, at the End-of-the-Scam party, no cake was served and while the BBQ was simple, the beers and sodas were plentiful. I am grateful for those friends and family members who filled our home with talking, laughing, and youthful energy that came with the intention to celebrate. It was a good party!
A special thanks
- To my daughter who added classy touches of décor and a charming table of cocktail ingredients, not to mention focused on her brother.
- To my son’s girlfriend’s mom who brought champagne and crystal glasses for toasting.
- To my partner who actively, concretely has supported our children’s goals of attending college.
While I bask in relief and swell in parental pride, my response is so much less noteworthy than the sacrifices, the work and the perseverance of the college graduates. Go Class 2023! I hope you can do better than we’ve ever done.
Hallelujah to celebrations, the reasons we have them, and the curious way that endings often feel like beginnings.
What are you celebrating this month? This year?
What small victories do you celebrate?
Do you come from a culture of celebrations?
One Good Mentor is all you need 