High School Graduation

A few months ago, I graduated from high school. I abhor the concept, having already “become deathly ill” during junior high school festivities.

However, the situation was not so simple this time around; if I didn’t go, my mother would bitch and mope for the next four months.

My father, conversely, was partial towards my position; after all, he had skipped his high school graduation.

At that point, I considered what a lazy, good-for-nothing, dependant individual I was/am.

I attended.

Of course, this didn’t involve following proper decorum and protocol. On “the big day”, I was the very last graduate there, arriving eighty minutes late.

In a half-serious, half-jocular manner two administrators interrogated me, "Almost thought you wouldn’t make it. Where were you?"

I had prepared for this.

In a tremulous voice, gasping for air, I replied,

"My grandmother was admitted into the emergency room earlier today with acute chest pains. The situation seems serious."

I lied.

Suddenly, the malicious sneer of Mr. Admin transformed into the gaping, wide-eyed, dilated-pupils expression I loved observing. After offering me his sincere, heartfelt condolences and further accompaniment, I passed him.

In the graduate’s reception room, I marveled for the millionth and last time how these Neanderthal apes avoided soiling themselves on a daily basis.

A Russian girl named Maria, soon to enter Chicago U., was explaining her special secret to everyone within earshot for the third cycle;

"You see, there’s a…. you know…. emotional stability difference between a lesbian and a bisexual like myself. I’m more out on my own, taking my chances… lesbians have a better support base…. it’s tough"

No male, female, cat, or dog would fuck her with a ten-foot pole, so this was her method of attracting attention. She should have come equipped with twenty shots of tequila instead.

I would vote her "Most Likely to Rape a Male Quadriplegic."

Then, we walked out. "Pomp and Circumstance" was being played. I didn’t see the administrators.

I ignored the faculty.

All I saw were the parents, friends, and relatives in the bleachers standing and cheering.

The event was overwhelming for me.

Too much.

I hated all of them. I hated them with a violent passion. Could they not see through the bogus sham that this was? What was the meaning? What was the point? The graduates were no different than they had been several minutes prior. Was the donning of a goofy hat and black cape a magical transformation into a well-adjusted, sophisticated, successful adult? Would new underwear have accomplished the trick just as well?

Did these parents desperately thirst for this petty illusion so they could obscure, no, forget their children’s ridiculous shortcomings, failures, and petty mean-spiritedness?

Do they lack independence? Are they so many sheep that the sugar coated, syrupy, hollow words of rich bastards constitute the necessary vindication for their lives and souls?

Where were the people that would have laughed at this ceremony? Not given it a second thought?

Realized that it was an element of a child’s world, not the adult realm graduates and parents alike should be living in??

Suddenly, I realized what was going on. In a few short months, these diaper-clad graduates would permanently leave their elders. The parents desperately needed something to hold on to, something to believe in.

The ceremony constituted their avenue of escape from cold, hard reality, their drug. This way, they could believe that their son/daughter was different, changed for the better, a success.

Even when everything else indicated otherwise.

Is the world truly so bleak and boring? Do people suck this much?

Holy fuck…

Overcoming the apex of my religious zeal, I noticed the valedictorian’s speech was beginning. The individual was an anti-intellectual, bug-eyed hysteric who liked to perform stoner impressions at lunchtime.

The speech consisted of anecdotes about nose picking, heroin, and performing cartwheels at night. (At least it was personal experience) They laughed.

I sat there, with the same grim, metallic, hard-faced, menacing expression. I couldn’t see my father in the stands. I knew he wore the same look.

Instead, I saw the huge families of Chinese, whites, but especially Indians.

The latter group got to me.

I had brought along three family members for the event. The average white or Chinese/Japanese/Korean graduate brought between five and seven.

The Indians brought upwards of fifteen.

I saw them, the foul-smelling eighty year-old who spit when he talked, the middle aged harpy hag that had escaped extermination by Jason and the Argonauts, the disobedient, mind-bendingly stupid and fugly little shits that were their children and grandchildren.

The vermilion marks painted by Americanized Indian women in a superficial, last-ditch attempt at reuniting with the culture they had long since abandoned…..

Holy fuck…

Next was the speech by the director of the school, who was stepping down.

Everyone hated her. She was responsible for the resignation of the most loved, well-respected teachers in the history of the school, including my favorite teacher ever.

She had taken $90,000 out of the student budget to buy a fourth Ferrari. Thanks to this kind and selfless gesture, students were perpetually left without any beverages during lunchtime.

The speech lasted an entire half-hour, while everyone suffered under the stifling, scorching, humid weather.

She cried.

She spoke about her love for all the students. How she wished them the best.

She talked about living the rest of her life in a deeply remote location. There were several Henry David Thoreau references.

As it turned out, this "wilderness in the middle of nowhere" was a beautiful, luxurious house in the most upscale section of Carmel, California. The same house costs more there than it would in the most exclusive sections of Hollywood.

She talked about kissing the ground, being at one with nature.

My father laughed, remarking that " ‘kissing the ground’ is a metaphor in Russian and English for being killed".

I certainly wished her dream comes true.

We then observed the Indian Amit, graduating president of NHS, lighting the "Lamp of Knowledge". Of course, before this, he said,

"I’d like to say that the class of 2005 is the sexiest one yet!! Holla!!!!"

It’s a shame they haven’t created the "Armchair of Homicide" for this hip club DJ yet.
Then, graduates received their diplomas.

I was shocked. The hottest, kindest, most interesting girls received faint applause, even the
Indian ones with dozens of relatives.

The ugliest, most shallow, cum-guzzlers received mad plaudits.

I received a warm ovation. This frightened me.

Amit was granted an emperor’s entrance, a deafening roar.

Holy fuck…

When the hell finally ended, it was time for the keynote speaker.

I had been to graduation last year. That year’s speaker was a lesbian feminist defense attorney who talked about the awful discrimination women face.

Her speech was almost as long and monotonous as the torture I had just been subjugated to.

I rationally expected to hear about racial discrimination or sexual preference-oriented discrimination this year.
I casually joked with a friend right next to me about him not showing up.

The subsequent individual and his speech shocked me.

It was good.

Damn good.

The man was a former CEO of Atari.

He gave wonderful, completely accurate advice. His speech had more content than the hundreds of hours of administrator talks I had heard from kindergarten to twelfth grade.

It barely lasted five minutes. Incredibly easy to follow, witty, short, insightful.

There are more interesting people in this world than I had originally anticipated. Time to forget about the laughable, menial high school world and focus on larger, better things.