I couldn’t pick him out of the sea of green graduation gowns, but I knew he was down there somewhere. Our son Jack was one of more than a thousand students lined up in rows, ready to cross the stage and receive a degree. Our family, along with more than 10,000 other relatives and friends, packed into Michigan State University’s basketball arena to watch it all happen.
But first, we had to get there. And with airfares soaring nearly as high as the planes themselves, we saved some money by flying our party of five to Chicago, where we rented a giant SUV and then drove the remaining five hours to Jack’s campus. It was an early-morning departure, followed by a long day of planes, trains, and automobiles.
Every spring, our country harvests a fresh crop of graduates — high school, college, and post-graduates. And when someone you love has worked hard for years to accomplish a goal, you show up.
Once we arrived on Graduation Eve, we had a lovely family dinner, and then I talked Jack into giving me his graduation gown so I could iron it before the big event. He resisted at first, saying he could do it on his own. But I know this kid’s level of patience for tedious chores, so I insisted, since we’d be taking photos afterward.
After I heated up what looked like a 30-year-old iron at the Hampton Inn, I began my work. I’m no ironing expert because I’m more of a steamer girl. But the steamer wouldn’t fit in my luggage, so I made do. I checked the tag on the new graduation gown, which said it was made of 100 percent recycled plastic bottles. While I’m sure this is a great move for our planet, the ancient iron I was using didn’t have a “plastic” setting. I settled for “synthetics” instead.
Generally speaking, ironing a graduation gown shouldn’t be difficult. It’s basically a zippered tent with two sleeves. But the makers of graduation gowns keep insisting on selling them after they’ve been folded many, many times into a small square about the same size as the graduation cap.
Why do they do this? I’m guessing they’re easier to ship this way. But they’re a nightmare to iron once all those creases have been pressed into place. It took my 82-year-old mother and me nearly an hour of what felt like ironing whac-a-mole to flatten those creases into submission.
When it was finally time for the big event, we showed up prepared because experience has taught us that most graduation ceremonies are as dull as dirt. It’s like going to a formal concert where someone reads an old phone book for three hours. So we packed our earbuds and reading materials, which came in handy during the two-hour wait to hear our son’s name.
Would I do it again every single day just to see the look of joy on his face as he walked out of that arena? Absolutely.
Time has taught me never to underestimate the power of simply showing up. People remember it when you’re there for moments that really mean something to them. Part of the reason long friendships are so special is because these are the people who have been eyewitnesses to our lives — the big moments, as well as the small, silly, and sad ones. Showing up is an act of love.
So even though we spent last weekend traveling 800 miles to one graduation, we’ll do it again next weekend when a cousin graduates from high school 200 miles away. She has worked hard for 12 years leading up to this one day, so she deserves her own fan club to help make it the big deal that it is.
To all of this year’s graduates, here’s hoping your graduation day brings you the sense of achievement you’ve earned, along with the joy you deserve, surrounded by people who love you enough to fly, drive, or iron that stupid gown.
Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her new novel is available on Amazon.