1997, Graduation Day

Graduation day. That final day of high school, that rite of passage most of us take firmly in hand at eighteen. The day where your school family that you have loved and hated for the past four years; are scattered to the wind. In a way, this is the first of many sojourns that will punctuate your life.

On reflection, in a graduating class of two hundred and fifty I suspect I didn't know even half of them. We had likely bumped shoulders at our lockers or thrown softballs to one another during P.E. Maybe we had stood together in the cafeteria line lamenting spaghetti and meatballs all too often menu appearance. Or perhaps we had been wallflowers at the same dance. No matter the tenuous connection between us, the day symbolised the loss of a "family" and even more poignant, a loss of the familiar. After today, we would only ever be a visitor to the, and with time the volume of people we'd be visiting would diminish.

All this swam through my head, as the chorus sang and our valedictorian gave a speech that I cannot remember a single word to. Before we knew it, the usher was at our aisle directing us to take the stage for our diplomas. Despite having a long history of walking without tripping, a silent prayer raced to heaven urging angels to keep me from falling off the stage. My entreaties were heard, as were everyone's, and diplomas were collected without incidence. The ceremony ended, students cheered and the exodus from one another's lives began.

Returning to my own family signalled the end of what had been a momentous day for me. My dad gave me a gift of a music box, whose tune was sad and sweet. In a way, it reflected the day's mood. To balance the palate, my mother's sour tone sealed my fate. She said she was proud of me, but not to expect any financial assistance with university. If I had been in any doubt, childhood was officially over and graduation day was its funeral.