After years of hard work, you’ve done it. College is soon to be a thing of the past. Chances are, you want to rest or celebrate or throw yourself at any opportunity to help you pay off your massive debt. But before any of that, there’s one last hurdle to overcome.
That’s right. The part where you pay even more money to wear a tent in an arena alongside thousands of other people—also in tents—as you’re sorted by department and level, culminating in a horrible mispronunciation of your name and the admonishment by the crowd of anyone who tries to cheer for you and celebrate your accomplishment. And then, you sit back down and wait for 7,000 other people to go through the same thing.
And best of all, you get to not move and be completely silent for hours. While people talk and talk and talk—regardless of whether you want to hear them—and you sweat uncomfortably in your recycled plastic gowns.
You may have already guessed it, but I’m not a big fan of commencement. In theory, you can get out of going to commencement, but for those of us whose families have reminded us our whole lives that they can’t wait to see us walk across the stage and get that diploma, skipping out would actually be a very cruel move. Why take from them something they’ve wanted for years?
Commencement is one of those spectacles we take part in because we love our families. It’s like recitals in elementary school or elaborate family photos; we put ourselves on display so our families can talk about the experience and show the evidence of our accomplishments for years.
After my high school graduation, however, I was not keen on going through that again. I remember it with pangs of regret and retrospective humiliation. We were herded together like sheep in tarps. Our teachers patted us down to ensure we weren’t bringing anything fun with us—no phones, no games, no toys, etc.
As we stepped out, one of the organizers started handing all the girls flowers. If we refused the flower, we were sharply told that we had to carry it or we couldn’t walk. We hadn’t signed up for that. The boys were free to do whatever they liked with their hands—wave, wring them anxiously, make obscene gestures, etc.—while girls were told to keep both their hands on the stems of their flowers.
When we sat down, we were not permitted to speak or do anything other than simply sit and wait. Our names were read and mangled, our not-actually-diplomas were handed to us with a brisk handshake and we went back to sitting while the band played “Pomp and Circumstance” on endless repeat. I remember being incredibly jealous, as they at least got to do something.
I can’t imagine that any college’s commencement is that different. The color scheme and location might differ, but I honestly will not be surprised if I’m frisked on my way into the arena or if my name mysteriously ends up with a few extra syllables. At least there’s rumored to be free will in where we end up sitting.
Worse than any of that, though, is the idea that we have to pay to go through this nonsense. We have to pay for our diplomas, the event itself, any tickets for family beyond the five we’re given, our robes, hats and tassels, and basically our own time. We give up possible hours at work and with friends who are leaving in order to take part in an event that is only still around because family likes to see you make a spectacle of yourself and because society tells us it’s important.
That’s not to say there are no positive aspects about commencement. It does provide good PR for the school and can show potential students just how many students make it to graduation. Not to mention that our commencement speaker this year is Jean Auel, the author of the Clan of the Cave Bear books. That is bound to be interesting. We’re also in the Rose Garden Arena, which will be lovely this time of year.
And again, it’s not about me. The accomplishment and degree are enough for me. This spectacle is for my family, and if it makes them happy, I’ll go through with it. Even if I have to all but will my way through it.