Observations During Grad Season
By Mr.e
Last night I attended a graduation ceremony. Another one.
Predictably this one took place in the only place a school stages these types
of events, the multifunctional gym; the stuffy confines of which in less than
20 minutes produced drops of sweat on many a brow of the spiffed up guests.
Adequate air circulation during these marathon events seems the last thing
on the minds or 'To Do' lists of frazzled event organizers; or the first thing
to be struck from that list.
Near the rear of the center isle a phalanx of camcorder dads had planted skinny
tripods side by side, ready to capture this event in the name of posterity.
These guys didn't move much, showed no emotion and didn't even applaud every
parental pride inducing performance; their left or right eye balls glued to
the view finders. Getting past them for an even better shot proved as difficult
as a full grown adult trying to squeeze through a gap in a picket fence; with
elbows.
After the mandatory introductory speeches by too many VIPs' attached to these
halls of academe, while the entire graduating class sat wedged onto a stage
just large enough to cram them all upon, this hot ticket event lurched into
it's first musical number, stoically accompanied on live piano or tapedeck.
Siblings dressed up like miniature adults wriggled and squirmed uncomfortably
and a generous dollop of spectator discomfort was doled out via accidentally
missed cues and sudden unexplained gaps in the taped music. The collective
attention was difficult to focus on what was happening on the stage due to
a rather fuzzy public address system and attentions were scattered all over
the place. The hot, crowded gymnasium managed to weave it's hypnotic spell,
magically transporting some adults off to dream land, amidst the cacophony
of this grand celebration.
At one point I noticed a woman making her way cautiously towards the back
of the gym cum auditorium (trying not to distract, but her huge hair demanding
attention just the same), clutching a 35mm camera, the lens cap clamped on
the glass end. She thrust it at one of the camcorder dudes. He tore his eye
from the viewfinder and scuttled off with this ancient technology while fumbling
with some mechanism that was supposed to rewind the film.
Five minutes later he returned, the film cartridge clasped triumphantly in
his sweaty hand. He handed the camera back to the wife who had already freed
a new roll of film from the copious amounts of cardboard that come gratis
with every roll purchased. Apparently she knew how to load the camera. Camcorder
dad reattached his retina to the viewfinder, wondering what he'd missed.
One bored brother was observed picking the underwear out of his bum while
up on stage some soon to be alumni were now discovering (much to the dismay
of mothers and the squeaky voiced delight of adolescent boys) that their skirts
were much too short for some maneuvers that had been rehearsed in jeans.
The programs' far too many musical numbers left the sticky audience as breathless
as the panting performers who doggedly ground through various songs in high
gear, racing for the finish. While carefully choreographed moves left the
more rhythmically challenged students awkwardly bobbing in the shows' churning
wake.
Finally after all the speeches, pomp and pageantry, teary eyed teachers bid
adieu to this batch. Then one by one the grads took hold of the microphone
and heartened by this final bonding experience, espoused their love and affection
for all and high hopes for the future. Eyes watered and tears splashed onto
flushed cheeks as blubbering parents and teachers alike, unable to contain
their emotions any longer, loudly applauded the grade seven graduating class
of '99.
One day it will be my kid up there.