So we show up because (11 notes on a graduation).

Because.

We went to a high school graduation because. We took our family. All of us. Because. We went on a Wednesday evening, on a hot Wednesday evening. Because. We have no children graduating, no relatives, no enormously close long-term friends-like-family dynamics where we’re obligated to go. We went because.

Because we can show up. There are people we care about, 17, 18, 19 years old. Some of them know us decently well. Some of us sort of well. Some of us not so well. There is a range of relationships and friendships and dynamics our family has, collectively and individually, with various graduates and their families. I do not think anyone would particularly notice if we didn’t go. Or even care. I’m serious. I’m not being self-deprecating or cynical. We could go, or not go, and I don’t think it would even register on people’s radar.

We went because there are 1) graduates we care about, and 2) families of the graduates we care about, and 3) it was the graduation of a school we care about, and sometimes, even when it’s not immensely relevant to you, you go out of your way to show up, to be present, and to be part of a collective mass in cheering on and supporting an achievement; a collective achievement that acknowledges for every graduate, there is some sort of social ecosystem that has enabled their success and completion of this achievement.

So we show up. Because.

Pomp and such.

They marched into the outdoor stadium, robes and hats fluttering in the hot evening. I still get goosebumps at watching graduates and brides walk down aisles.

These things are easy to make fun of, but they’re also a wonderful recurring opportunity to set aside irony and cynicism and replace it it with sincerity and hope. This replacement is and should be good for our souls.

Bleachers.

We sat up high, far away, together, and two boys watched with certain interest for a while, until the wind carried it away; I reached into my survival bag and deposited markers and sketch pads for them to render imaginations and abstractions while elders and wise ones of all ages spoke from the distant stage.

Obnoxious.

I generally try not to complain about loud noise that is of a joyful nature. That being said, I am fully in favor of eradicating air horns from existence. They rob the crowd, families, people of the chance to applaud and make noise with their own voice and two hands and whatever whistlings they are generating with fingers in mouth; hygiene and cross-contamination concerns being set aside temporarily.

Achievements.

Various people whose names I forget with titles I can’t remember spoke of the importance of various important things, and how this class is special. It was a special message, and I will never forget the importance of these messages, unless I accidentally have to clear space in my memory to remember other things, which is a small possibility.

Academics.

There was no valedictorian, but rather, co-salutatorians. The first had a 3.8-something GPA and spoke of various memories and people and experiences and wisdoms. Her voice was pleasant and she spoke with assuredness and hope and plans to finish writing a series she’s been working on for four years.

The next co-salutatorian entered to tsunami applause. His smile engulfed the stadium and my daughter who is not a yeller nor a screamer sat next to me and screamed and yelled in solidarity for him, as she should, as he is a kind and intelligent individual with a big presence, a big frame, a big smile, a big heart, and a big capacity for expressing gratitude for those who have helped along the way.

He spoke with humor and poise about the people on his path, namechecking and including many. There was much applause at many points.

He made his mom happy, and I can verify this, as I spoke with her later and had this suspicion confirmed. She has raised a fine son.

Note: I learned later that the reason they were co-salutatorians was that it is district policy to use valedictorian only if you are number one in your class with a 4.0 GPA.

I have been proud of our daughter since the time she has existed, all almost-16 years. This evening, I was filled with pride of a particular sort as I sat next to her and watched, listened to her cheer on everyone.

Cheer on…everyone. She clapped heartily, she yelled and whooped - whooped - and invested her spirit, her attention, her attention to the occasion. Not just when her friends or particular seniors were on. She gave her attention to the speakers, to all the seniors as they were honored, she invested in the present.

Investing in the present with our attention is one of the great gifts we can give graduates at these ceremonies; these ceremonies that can seem so long and repetitive and cliche. I was proud of the attention and focus and encouragement she gave; there were plenty of slow spots and dull spots and places where honestly, it would be much entertaining to pull out a phone and find something, anything, to occupy the time-space until the next thing or next person you’re ‘there for’ was on stage.

But we don’t go to these things to give our attention only when the people we are ‘there for’ are being honored.

I was really proud of how she clapped and cheered on all the seniors. There was no mistaking the ones she had special connections with, have no doubt. But she cheered for everyone.

It’s an easy thing to do, but it’s also a thing that we often do not do.

I loved that she did, and I am sounding all proud-like. Because I am. Those are the things I will sometimes quietly brag about on here.

Keynote.

A history teacher spoke of the difficulties of this class starting their 9th grade year during COVID, lockdowns, and various pandemic protocols. Amidst various references to lost dreams, he encouraged the class to remember the importance of making plans, of practicing dedication and commitment and resolve and determination. He referenced various historical figures (Henry Ford, MLK) and movies (October Sky, Newsies). His message was not all blue skies and rainbows, but nor was it thundershowers and hurricanes. It was a call to face adversity and the future with resolve and a plan; a warning that everything’s not going to go the way you want, but you can hop in the driver’s seat and steer yourself through it. But you got to have a map, know how to use it, and head somewhere with it.

Others.

An early-20 something made approximately a dozen passes back and forth, at the front of the bleachers, during the program. She appeared to be in a hurry each time, though she was not running. She moved with a particular intensity that made me curious about what was occupying her time, regularly and frequently, throughout. I do not know, as I was unable to inquire, but I suspect she has single-handedly helped keep at least one tattoo parlor in business, as I admired the curious inking running up her neck and jawline and all around here face. The lives of others. Fascinating.

Presentation of.

There was a neat way of handing over diplomas: graduates were able to ask a particular teacher or administrative person to present their diploma, along with a favorite memory and a short summary of what their post-high school plans were. Although it prolonged the process, it was also interesting to get an additional level of personality and detail about each graduate.

And I’m sure it was meaningful for each graduate to be announced and presented by someone with whom they had a special connection with.

Afterwards.

I complimented a teacher who spoke, Mr A———-, on his message and voice. ‘You’ve got a great voice for public speaking,’ I said truthfully. He laughed and said thank you and accepted my words. My son was a little embarrassed, I think. That’s okay.

I complimented Principal K——- on his words up front, and also his hair. ‘It’s the breeze, making it look all wind-blown cool,’ he said, smiling and accepting the compliment. My son was a little embarrassed, I think.

‘Congratulations!’ I said to a family friend; mom of a graduate, stepping in to give her a hug and realizing at the last second that I was stepping into a family photo - or rather, stepping into her graduate who was trying to capture a BeReal moment with her family. They ordered me to stay in the picture, so I did and grinned nerdishly, which comes from many years of practice. Someone who was with me might have been a little embarrassed, I think.

We scooted and stepped through the masses and slowly slogged our way through to daylight; I saw the co-salutatorian and his family through the gauntlet. I stepped into open air as they finished a family photo, and he caught my eye, greeting me before I could congratulate him. ‘Thanks for coming Mr Long!’ He said, although I have told him at least a few times that ‘Joseph’ is fine. He wrapped me up in a hug and gave me his full attention; something I did not expect in any sense, considering the many people there for him. I conveyed a few words of my appreciation for him and the sense of gratitude and joy he carries with him, and he hugged me again and returned to the throngs - but not before I got a picture of him and my son grinning side by side in a buddied-up embrace. I will forever have a soft spot and a special respect for multigenerational relationships and friendships that transcend age - age that means nothing as you get older, but can mean a great deal as a teen. So as I snapped a picture of a giant 18-year old valedictorian hugging my 12-year old son with great affection, and I thought of the support, encouragement, and kindness he has conveyed in his four years here, including to our children, I am a little overwhelmed. The world can be a beautiful place.

Someone came up to me whose name I couldn’t retrieve immediately. ‘Hey!’ He said, ‘you don’t have one graduating, do you?!’ No, I said, not yet! It took me a second because it was out of contextual place: he runs sound for theatrical productions - and graduation - and his enthusiastic greeting and remembrance of me made me feel good. It feels good to be remembered. Thank you, Jason.

‘Hey!’ I said, chasing down another graduate, ‘Hey!’ He turned around, amidst the throngs. ‘Hey,’ I said, waiting for my 12-year old son to catch up with this 18-year old senior. The senior, W——-, turned with a big smile, greeting my son - 6 years his junior, their bond formed in Theater - and greeted him warmly. Then his dad came up with a grin, greeting my son. My son and this graduate’s father have played chess versus one another online, and…and…here we are, me introducing myself and joining this little congratulatory party of five, and it was beautiful. ‘You coming to the grad party in a few days?’ His mom asked my son.

Because.

It is a special, a wonderful thing to be part of a community that values learning, that values relationships, that values people.

We go to these things when we are weary, when we are tired, when we are fatigued and ready to not be at something like this, because,

Because we need to be. We need to, amidst our weariness and tiredness and fatigue, be there, to be refreshed, rejuvenated, reminded that there is hope, there is a future, that people matter, and that old things for some of us are constantly new for others, and that is a beautiful thing,

So we can celebrate and be loud and be happy and proud for others, together.

That is why we show up.