Some thoughts about graduating

It's 11:30 am on graduation day and I'm getting dressed. I pull out my frankly ratty and worn-out black button-down shirt. Well, it's not really black anymore; it has adopted a grayish-green hue in the 50+ times that it has been washed. As I'm fastening the buttons I realize just how often I've worn this shirt - every orchestra concert, every musical, every opera, every solo recital, every somewhat-upscale occasion. I think of how nervous I've been in that shirt waiting to perform or to meet someone important. I'm also reminded of how happy I've been in it, celebrating successful performances in good company. While it's not a trait many would envy, my sartorial predictability has provided me with a beautiful keepsake of my time in high school. I look at it and remember all the highs (and a couple lows) of the last four years.

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It's probably about 3:00 pm and I'm rushing to get my beautiful blue, synthetic gown back on after performing Tico Tico no Fubà — a selection as festive and energetic as it is unexpected at a graduation ceremony. In my hurry to make it to the podium in time to give a speech, I accidentally zip my shirt collar into the gown's flimsy zipper and curse under my breath. The combination of post-performance endorphins and pre-performance tension is quite intriguing but I don't have time to analyze or process it. 

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I've spoken now, and it has gone well, I think. But as I sit down I realize that that performance and that speech were the last things I'll ever really do as a high school student. As a reserved and emotionally stagnant person, I am rarely moved, but this realization both shocks and grounds me. That was the last time I'll feel my hands shake over the keys as I ghost over the opening bars of the piece in preparation. The last time I'll play an A to tune the instrumentalists and cringe until they reach a consensus regarding their intonation. The last time I'll nod at the cellist to indicate I'm ready to start. And the last time I'll bow with my friends after a good performance. I know I'll get to experience all of these moments at some point in the future, but never in this context. We live in an age in which virtually everything is possible, but dilating time to extend a moment or traveling back in time to relive one is not. 

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It's 8:00 and I'm tossing my shirt into the laundry hamper. I've had a lovely dinner with my family during which I was congratulated profusely. Why, I don't know. We're expected to graduate from high school, so doing so is no indication of superiority. For that reason among others, I find it awkward to accept such praise. I also can't accept it as a remark geared toward only me because my high school experience was made possible and made exceptional by many people. So as my relatives propose toast after toast, I mentally spread my thanks to those who have taught me, guided me, and mentored me. I hope that one day, I will be able to thank them properly.

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What I'm trying to say with this long-winded and probably unsuccessful extended metaphor about a shirt that has more than run its course, is that high school wasn't terrible. It wasn't the awkward or torturous time that the stereotype suggests it ought to be. Looking back on it all, I had a really good time. I grew, I learned, and I met wonderful people along the way.