[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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