The Season of Moving On

          It is the time of year when fledglings leave the nest and parents wonder where the time went, clinging to what was, knowing they have to let go. Their children are wondering how it took so long and are struggling to be free, not knowing what is over the next hill, but confident in the zeal and innocence of youth that whatever it is, they can conquer it. It is graduation season, and another generation moves on.

            It is a bittersweet time for parents and graduates. The graduate has spent roughly two-thirds of their lives preparing for high school graduation, and are now, at 17 to 19, beginning to realize that the near terminal case of total knowledge they were so sure of at the age of 14 to 16, may not be as iron clad as they thought. The parents have been through this before, and have spent approximately one-third of their lives getting the fledgling to the edge of the nest. They know the graduate, so full of confidence, pomp and circumstance as they strut their stuff across the stage for their piece of paper, has now gained only the right to begin to learn.

            That is the irony of graduation in anything, at any level. You work years to master a program, a situation, to become the big fish in the pond, and just as you become proficient, someone hands you a piece of paper declaring your mastery, says, "Congratulations," smiles, pats you on the back, and with malice aforethought, kicks you into the bigger pond where you become the little fish again. We call that growth, and I suppose it is, but it would be nice to be the big fish for a while and just swim around as lord of that particular pond, but that is stagnation, not good for you or the pond. 

            I reflect on past graduations. For me, high school was a biggie. No one in my family thought I would make it, but I did, without repeating a grade or a class. I became a big fish, ready to jump into a bigger pond.

            My high school pond was so big that it took three hours for my 984 co-fish to walk. Because my name begins with the letter "A", my glory was over within the first quarter hour, and I had to sit watching as the rest had their moment. I saw people cross that stage that I had never seen before. I was stunned to realize that I had been swimming in a very isolated area of the pond. I am certain that the size and number of my graduation is why I have an aversion to these types of ceremonies. That, and the fact that I was greeted by my family after the interminable display with the question, "When are you leaving?"

            I did leave, and after busting out of college joined the Marine Corps. That was a graduation to see. I don't know how many passed in review that day and earned the title of Marine, but I and my platoon did. I still remember our drill instructor's final words to us; "You think you know something, but you don't. All you have now is enough knowledge to be dangerous to yourself and others. That can get you and them killed. You also know enough to start learning. Don't waste it. That will save your life." I was a big fish going into a bigger pond, but this one had sharks in it.

            I survived that pond, went back to school for what seemed like forever, but did not graduate. After swimming in the shark pond, the rest of it seemed rather pointless to me, so I never had that experience, but I had seen enough.

               I reflect on my children's graduations, and my grandchildren's, and the graduations of students that I have taught, as well as those that have honored me by asking me to deliver key note addresses, and I see something in common to them all, something that is a pleasant surprise to me to overshadow my aversion.

            I sit and watch, or speak, and I am amazed at the feeling of satisfaction I get as I look at the graduates and a warmth flows over me. I am sure in that moment that the world is in good hands. These young people marching in the line behind us are better trained, better prepared, and made of better stuff.

            There are some in this year's class that can, and will solve some of the world's most demanding and perplexing problems. Some will grace the world with art, music, story, and poetry. They have been raised up for this purpose, and are ready to meet the challenge. As long as they believe they can, who are we to think otherwise and limit them in any way? We need what they have, and that is the joy of graduations. It is like spring. As flowers bloom, so do our children. In them are the seeds of hope for the future. Lead on graduates, and welcome to the pond.