We Have to Celebrate Graduating High School?
My little brother’s high school graduation was this week so I’ve been home for a few days. It’s been a whirlwind of events. He’s part of a school-within-a-school program which had to have it’s own alternative/intimate ceremony. This consisted of silly awards that came off more mean or completely lame. Ex - Mike got the diamond award, why? Because he plays baseball. Please. The only good one was the David Sedaris award. I was secretly hoping my blog had a previously unknown high circulation amongst Anchorage youth & I was going to get that one. Nope. Then the participant got up to receive the award and the next minute was spent sans clapping deciding whither a hug or a hand shake was in order for a line of ten teachers. Seriously awkward interactions of a hand out from one & a lean in from the other. Then they both switch. And switch back again alternately.
The real graduation was the next day. This is on a massive scale filling our stadium hockey arena. There was getting there early to score good seats, squashed between way over involved parents busily folding origami leis & figuring out how to press record on their expensive HD camcorders & fancy SLRs with icons they will never understand. Also there was air horns. I really hate those. Continue...
And, good god the speeches. So bad. I’ll give credit to the kid president because it was genuinely funny at parts. But, and there is a huge but, it was awful. Awful because the main gist of it was thanking his father. And why? Because it was his father who force him to attend Service High (rather than South, the rich, aka white only school where his friends went) and how grateful he was in the end to have so many minorities. The way this came off implied time spent in a diverse environment was just the “real world” experience you need to become a man. Like time with the Peace Corps, or joining the army. Something he had to endure or sacrifice for to gain life experience. It was insanely condescending and I was kinda shock. The remainder of speeches were chalk full of cliché “treasure every moment’s and carpe diem was mentioned at least seven times.
There was a mixture of singing, which is nice, and orchestra music, which is boring. Then the kids finally start walking. This is the catalyst of madness, which emanated from every seemingly mild mannered parent in the entire arena. A stampede from the bleachers rendered our front row seats irrelevant. Freshly bloomed beach balls were instantly extinguished by shifty eyed security guards. There was a significant lack of blow dolls that had made a memorable appearance in 2001. More air horns resonated deeply though my ear drums. Another corner stone life event checked off.
The real graduation was the next day. This is on a massive scale filling our stadium hockey arena. There was getting there early to score good seats, squashed between way over involved parents busily folding origami leis & figuring out how to press record on their expensive HD camcorders & fancy SLRs with icons they will never understand. Also there was air horns. I really hate those. Continue...
And, good god the speeches. So bad. I’ll give credit to the kid president because it was genuinely funny at parts. But, and there is a huge but, it was awful. Awful because the main gist of it was thanking his father. And why? Because it was his father who force him to attend Service High (rather than South, the rich, aka white only school where his friends went) and how grateful he was in the end to have so many minorities. The way this came off implied time spent in a diverse environment was just the “real world” experience you need to become a man. Like time with the Peace Corps, or joining the army. Something he had to endure or sacrifice for to gain life experience. It was insanely condescending and I was kinda shock. The remainder of speeches were chalk full of cliché “treasure every moment’s and carpe diem was mentioned at least seven times.
There was a mixture of singing, which is nice, and orchestra music, which is boring. Then the kids finally start walking. This is the catalyst of madness, which emanated from every seemingly mild mannered parent in the entire arena. A stampede from the bleachers rendered our front row seats irrelevant. Freshly bloomed beach balls were instantly extinguished by shifty eyed security guards. There was a significant lack of blow dolls that had made a memorable appearance in 2001. More air horns resonated deeply though my ear drums. Another corner stone life event checked off.
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