notes from an optional graduation ceremony

I think if you know me, you might not be surprised to hear that I made my parents and bf go to an extra graduation ceremony. An optional one the day before the real one. My bf, who was also getting his masters, didn’t opt in for his extra ceremony, but you bet your ass I did.

Did you know that at my school, you have to buy your graduation robe? And then it’s yours for keepsies. And it’s a real hideous piece of garbage with fake sleeves that are supposed to drape down and I think look decorative. But really they just look like extra fabric that got left on by accident. Every time you put on your robe (which, if you go to two ceremonies, will be at least twice), your hands will automatically fill up these decorative sleeves, and it will look like you are wearing shitty gloves. You will laugh about this with everyone at graduation(s)—it gives you something to talk about and a place to hide things in your sleeves while you walk acrosss the stage (both times).

I realized about halfway through the optional ceremony that no one really knew why we were all there. We didn’t do the tassel thing, and when we walked across the stage, we got a zippered notebook thing instead of a diploma holder.

My favorite part of either ceremony was when one of the optional ceremony speakers mentioned that this was some people’s first degrees, some second, and asked if there was anyone in the audience just finishing their third. This person in our graduating class who nobody likes went: whoop whoop! in the silence that followed. My friend K called her out: what are you doing, you are not a triple dog. Whoop girl reasoned that since she double majored in under grad, this counted as her third degree. K wasn’t taking her shit and said so, and it was a satisfying moment.

When we checked in at the ceremony, they kept handing us papers and telling us we couldn’t carry anything with us across the stage. Then we were herded into an auditorium staging area where there was a professional photographer and a grey backdrop. In order to have my picture taken, I had to crouch down and set my papers on the stage. This would have been fine EXCEPT I lied about my weight when I ordered my cap and gown from the bookstore. In my defense, it was only by like 10 pounds—I’m lying about this, too, now—and it was only to make me feel better. But I think I accidentallly sized myself into the next smallest size, which was too fucking small. It’s a robe, it’s supposed to be big and flowy. But mine was kind of form fitting in weird areas. It might not have been noticeable to anyone but me EXCEPT that when I bent down to set down my papers, I fucking split my robe. Like I heard a rip sound and knew fabric was tearing. My professional graduation picture captures this magic moment, when I realized that my grad school weight gain was enough to make me split my robe on a stage in front of an honest-to-god audience.

Then I had to spend the next hour and a half sitting in an ill-fitting and split robe in a too small chair listening to people who were trying to be inspirational, which is probably a tough spot to be in. (Like when we were playing a drinking game (twelves) at our Xmas party the next day and my friend kept demanding that the rules we make up be funny, like on command funny.)

I realized sitting there that my gown only really split along the zipper and that it actually kind of made it fit better. And that everyone was trying really hard to tell us about what an honor it is to be an alumnus without even saying the words money or donations yet. And that my Zoloft must actually be working because I wasn’t freaking out all that bad about the split gown or the monumental life moment happening all around me at this optional ceremony.