The Graduate(s)

Jason's black graduation robe is hanging on the door behind me. I remember when, a few months after we started dating, he became a full-time student at Salem State College. He was so anxious.

On Saturday, I'll sit next to his parents and watch his graduation ceremony. I am very proud of him.

This time of year always has me thinking back to some of the graduation ceremonies that I've attended over the last (almost) twenty-eight years. Of all of them, my high school graduation definitely gets the "Jumbled Bag of Emotions" award.

I vaguely remember enjoying kindergarten, but things went downhill after that. First grade through twelfth grade was like an extended period of slow, soul-scraping torture. My misery and angst knew no bounds.

On the plus side, it was while serving my four-year sentence in high school that I began writing poems to cope with my unhappiness. From what I recall, my early attempts at poetry were pretty dramatic and self-indulgent. They generally revolved around such themes as, "No one understands me," "No one likes me," "The boy I like doesn't know I exist," and "The boy I like knows I exist but he doesn't like me or understand me."

Rough stuff. But it helped shape me into who I am today. Thanks, writing!

I don't remember much of my high school graduation - mostly because I brought a book and read through the whole thing. I was really that intent on not caring and making a small display of it.

See, look how "over this whole thing" I was:

You can tell I don't care because I'm sticking my tongue out. It also appears that I didn't bother bringing any skin color with me that day.

That's all for today, friends. Tomorrow I will write about another momentous occasion in my life: My preschool graduation.