[lit-ideas] Re: Blowing kisses
- From: Eric Yost <mr.eric.yost@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Tue, 16 Jun 2009 15:42:58 -0400
David: You finished high school; you deserve a medal.
No folding chair for me. Stood at a high school graduation
earlier this month.
Self-congratulation keynoted in a shiny gym. Students
marched in with a skeletal wheezing Sibelius fanfare.
Dilating upon the history of the institution. Providing "Did
You Know?" factlets of events foreign and domestic in that
19th century founding year. Honoring each teacher who had
made this day possible. Lionizing the administrative staff.
Commemorating the retirement of a stellar Assistant
Principal, a rotund woman in red who urged all graduates to
walk a peaceful warrior path, like "Mohandananadadass Gandhi."
Students paraded to the stage in choreographed rows, like
demented robed puppets in a funereal conga line. Their names
were called once. Shake-hands-diploma-exit-left. They had
been practiced twice. Shake-hands-diploma-exit-left.
Students marched out to booming squeals of an unknown melody.
Crush of crowd. Discrete police. Smiling at strangers. The
pleasure of it being over.
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