The first thing that ever stuck out to me about graduation day was my shoes. I absolutely loved my dress. It was white, to go under our white gowns, and it was perfectly cut to fit correctly in all the right places. My hair looked good, for once, and I put in a little pearl clip to help hold my hair in place.
The oddball to my entire outfit ensemble was the shoes though. They were on loan from my mother because they were the only pair of white shoes that were sophisticated enough for graduation and fit to the point that they wouldn’t fly off when I attempted to walk. The problem with these shoes was that they were white, but they weren’t a perfect white. The color was off so slightly that you could just make out the difference. To a perfectionist that slight difference was enough to drive me mad. They were my only option, so I had to go with them, but I thought to myself, “This doesn’t bode well for the rest of graduation.”
The drive to my high school was hot and sticky. I was in a hurry and I was nervous. I was one of the first people to be walking in to the traditional graduation fanfare, and I was scared out of my mind that I would fall and trip over my stupid off-white shoes and slow down the entire procession. It was a common fear among my classmates, but they were lucky enough to not have my sense of balance and coordination. My fear was a legitimate one.
As I was rushing around to get into place I felt very disjointed from the celebrations going on around me. I was still unbelievably nervous, but I no longer felt the gripping anxiety. I smiled and took pictures with some of my good high school friends. I smiled and took pictures with people I had talked to all of five times throughout high school. The entire time I kept thinking, “I am not going to miss this place at all, or these people.”
Finally, it was time to take my place in line. As a member of the top ten, I was able to sit in the front row, and I would be one of the first to receive my diplomas. I was excited about this because it meant I could space out and daydream about going to dinner with my parents and stepbrother to my favorite restaurant. I was ecstatic my stepbrother had made it, and I wanted to spend time with my family. The ceremony felt like a formality.
Our row stood up and moved to the stage. I felt my breath catch in my throat and my nerves came back full-force. Although I felt fairly detached from the importance of the ceremony, I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of my family by tripping. When my name was called, I took a deep breath and put one ugly shoe in front of the other, shook the hand of a school board member I didn’t particularly know, grasped my diploma, smiled and headed off the stage at a quick pace. It was finally over.
The real highlight came when walking by the teacher section after receiving my diploma. The moment I would never forget is my past instructors standing up to give me a hug as I walked by.
My newspaper adviser, as odd and funny as he is, stood up with a wide smile on his face, shook my hand, and said congratulations with more enthusiasm than I ever heard him use outside of discussing NPR.
My advanced placement English literature teacher stood up and gave me a big hug. She whispered, “Congratulations, JWray,” into my ear, and patted me on the shoulder as I drew away.
It was those two instances that made me value that graduation ceremony. Aside from the fact that my family was there to see me, those two teachers made me realize that although I wouldn’t really miss my peers, or the academics, I would miss the people that I had come to know as my instructors. The lessons and the values I was taught in and out of the classroom would be the building blocks I’d take with me to college.
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