In America high school graduation is a way, WAY bigger deal than university graduations (strange, isn't it?). I'm sure your parents had a million ways to be proud of you that had nothing to do with mortarboards or long ceremonies though.
Hi Jenna, thank you for that perspective. I didn't know that high school graduations were bigger tha unversity graduations in the US. I suppose I imagined them as being roughly similar in importance. I was bemused by the whole shool graduation thing for years, until I finally went to one a couple of years ago (not in the US, though). Looking at the happy and proud faces in the room, I finally understood it.
I remember my children’s graduations much better than I do my own. I was messy and emotional and I’m sure I embarrassed them. But I was so proud. My single favorite memory was of my son’s master’s in special education. It was in an outdoor stadium. We sat high up in the bleachers, the ceremony went on forever, and the only way I could spot him in that sea of black was that he’d painted the autism symbol (four jigsaw puzzle pieces in four colors, fitted together) in liquid chalk on his mortarboard. He stood out in the best possible way. Still does.
Jeffrey, the parental mindset you portray here is touchingly different from the one that shaped my own life passages. My parents skipped my high school graduation, where I delivered a speech, to take advantage of cheap tickets to Mexico. I came home that night to an empty house but for years did not admit how abandoned I felt. They didn’t want to attend my wedding, admittedly at city hall and announced on fairly short notice, because they had guests for the weekend. I insisted they come, but they would not allow my sister to join them on the grounds that the trip to my city would have jeopardized her standing at school. We both regret her absence to this day. Families have their priorities. In my family, rites of passage ranked low on the list.
Thank you, Rona, for sharing those vivid experiences and reflections. Cheap tckets to Mexico vs daughter's high school graduaton ceremony! That's quite an interesting equivalence.
I was the first in my family ever to go to university. As the big day approached, my parents made it clear that they wanted to be there. I'm glad they were. I can see the framed photo of the 3 of us on that day from where I sit typing this comment.
Thank you David.. I guess that's the way it should be! An older brother of mine had been the first in the family to go to university. I don't know if my parents attended is graduaton - or whether he had one. I can't recall seeing any photos. I'm glad to hear you have that photo to help bring back the memory.
Jeffrey, You remind me of a time I missed a graduation, but not for lack of trying. My family generally celebrated these occasions, but it was understood that it might sometimes be impracticable to get to someone’s from afar. So my big brother did not expect me at his graduation from chiropractic school with his bachelor’s degree and professional certification. I was in New York in grad school myself, and he was in Portland, Oregon. I sent him my best wishes and then plotted with my parents to fly in, meet them, and surprise my brother. I was so excited. The secret was perfectly kept. My parents were thrilled to help sneak me in.
And then a big storm hit New York, shutting down airports. I got the shuttle to La Guardia and sat at my gate, crushed that no flights were coming or going. Bulldozers plodded back and forth, pushing heavy rainfall off runways into the sound.
I tried to rebook out of Newark, but wouldn’t arrive in time. I finally gave up and told my parents I couldn’t make it. My brother didn’t mind at all, and was touched that I had tried. But gosh, I missed that darned surprise effect of having the whole family there.
I wonder, if it had meant something to your parents, might they have said so? Maybe they were proud to let you grow up your own way, and that was enough. Thank you for the glimpse of Oxford ceremony!
That's a great story, Tara. And how generous of you to try to attend! Though it must have been really frustrating not to get there in the end. I guess I'll never know for sure about what my parents thought. But a good byproduct of these kinds of essay are the lost memories that float up to surprise us. I'm now beginning to recall more actions and words from those far-off days.
I appreciated this so very much. I don’t think young, developing brains typically have an innate sense of others’ needs unless it’s modeled or taught. I think back to some decisions I made, one which was to not go to a friend’s wedding because of schedule conflicts, but the truth is, I just didn’t prioritize it, didn’t value marriage in my own life so couldn’t conceive how it might be important to another. One of my biggest life regrets. Some of us are late-bloomers into our emotional IQ’s but perhaps we make up for lost time with the depths we feel things now? :)
Thank you for that question, Richard. In my case, I think selfishness has morphed into a kind of self-absorption. I guess it's hard to avoid in memoir.
You are, I must say, a gentleman to have responded in this way (or, at all) to my brutal questions.
I have only once written about myself, directly, for publication -- an essay on re-reading over many decades discloses a great deal about oneself to oneself. My example was Middlemarch, read at 20 and then again at 60.
But with the caveat that my intention was to illuminate by example the self-discovery that reading literature can reveal. My purpose was to discuss the great value in rereading the classics, necessitating one's reading at an earlier time of life.
But I hesitated before publishing it, because, frankly, who, other than immediate family, really cares about me? One must, as a writer, be very cautious and judicious about the intrusion of one's private life into public affairs. That is what ails all writers nowadays, spurred on by the awful college writing courses (write what you know, write what you feel) -- the disappearance of the borderline between public and private.
I think that the moment one enters the arena of essay writing, one is fair game for such questions! I'm sure that simply blurring the public and private can lead to unhelpful or undesirable results. I'd also like to think that the private and the public can illuminate one another, as in your example of your reading of Middlemarch. I don't know about college courses on writing, as I haven't taken one. Personally, in the year I've been writing essays, I've been trying to learn from writers I admire, who all have different ways of blending the personal and the public. Lamb and Hazlitt are obvious examples, but also Heaney, Pope, Ovid and Coleridge, as well as Didion and Orwell. All hopelessly beyond my reach, of course. But they all have something to teach me.
"The opportunity to talk was lost forever." Jeffrey, this is such a touching reflection. I feel this so much because my paternal uncle is the only one left alive of his immediate family. My father and his sisters and brothers are all gone except him, and I this summer I was hoping to travel to CA to see him to ask him my questions in person (these really are not "phone" or "email" questions). This reminds me that sometimes we need to make the moment happen instead of waiting for the right moment to appear.
Thank you, Zina. You're right. We kid ourselves into thinking the moment will just occur. But as you suggest, we have to make it happen. I hope you can do that!
Really beautifully written, Jeffrey. It was a very different time. I’m sure it would have made no difference to the great pride your parents felt about your achievements. Graduation ceremonies are lovely, but it’s the graduation itself that counts.
Thank you so much, Maureen. Thank you also for sharing. And I agree. Ceremonies can be great, but in the end, most parents will want to see their children happy and fulfilled, regardless of how their achievements get celebrated.
Interesting. I graduated in absentia too when I was awarded an MSc, plus I was in my mid-forties so was not over-excited about a ceremony! I don't have a first degree. Seeing you speaking at a graduation in HK bought back memories - between 2004 and 2016 I went to HK twice a year to officiate at graduations - I absolutely loved it.
Thank you, June! I just having the chance to see you officiate, as I arrived in Hong Kong in 2018. I'd occasionally groan at the end of a busy week about having to give up my Saturday to make my way to a graduation, but afterwards I was invariably glad to have done so.
Thanks, Albert. I'm sure that if my parents had done the same, I, too, would have gone along with it. I'm very glad to hear that it worked out so well for you.
So moving, so beautifully written: sharing our achievements and admiring our children's-- and then the deaths of your parents. Jeffrey, you write with such heart and soul that you make me want to sing! --then there's the marvelous Larkin. What a wonder you simply, brilliantly are.
What a poignant & eloquent reflection, Jeffrey. It brings to mind a portion of “Little Gidding”:
“This is the use of memory:
For liberation - not less of love but expanding
Of love beyond desire, and so liberation
From the future as well as the past.”
In your willingness to share in such a vulnerable way with your audience, the redemptive catharsis you experience through art encourages authentic identification value & an avenue for purposeful introspection for your readers. Perhaps this is the greatest tribute you can offer to the memory of your beloved parents.
Thank you, Alisa. And thank you for those lovely lines from Little Gidding. Liberation from future and past - it's a powerful idea. And I like your phrase about an "avenue for purposeful lintrospection."
I know that my parents made it to the Sheldonian in the summer of 1984 to watch me graduate. I have no idea what they made of the Latin. The truly scary bit was it was the day they were being introduced to my boyfriend's slightly eccentric parents. Many years later I like you had the privilege to sit on the platform at many graduation ceremonies in Sheffield. I absolutely loved them, and particularly the massively proud and irreverent cheering and shouting from parents who had travelled from China, from Indonesia and Malaysia, from Nigeria and Ghana, to watch their children walk across a stage in a gown and silly hat. Glorious.
Wow, Sarah, that's exactly the year I would have gone to my ceremony. And I agree about the joy of seeing so many happy and proud parents together. It's just a shame I didn't have the imagination to envisage that for my own.
In America high school graduation is a way, WAY bigger deal than university graduations (strange, isn't it?). I'm sure your parents had a million ways to be proud of you that had nothing to do with mortarboards or long ceremonies though.
Hi Jenna, thank you for that perspective. I didn't know that high school graduations were bigger tha unversity graduations in the US. I suppose I imagined them as being roughly similar in importance. I was bemused by the whole shool graduation thing for years, until I finally went to one a couple of years ago (not in the US, though). Looking at the happy and proud faces in the room, I finally understood it.
Thank you for sharing that wonderful story about your son, Mary! Your pride and joy come out so clealry.
I remember my children’s graduations much better than I do my own. I was messy and emotional and I’m sure I embarrassed them. But I was so proud. My single favorite memory was of my son’s master’s in special education. It was in an outdoor stadium. We sat high up in the bleachers, the ceremony went on forever, and the only way I could spot him in that sea of black was that he’d painted the autism symbol (four jigsaw puzzle pieces in four colors, fitted together) in liquid chalk on his mortarboard. He stood out in the best possible way. Still does.
Jeffrey, the parental mindset you portray here is touchingly different from the one that shaped my own life passages. My parents skipped my high school graduation, where I delivered a speech, to take advantage of cheap tickets to Mexico. I came home that night to an empty house but for years did not admit how abandoned I felt. They didn’t want to attend my wedding, admittedly at city hall and announced on fairly short notice, because they had guests for the weekend. I insisted they come, but they would not allow my sister to join them on the grounds that the trip to my city would have jeopardized her standing at school. We both regret her absence to this day. Families have their priorities. In my family, rites of passage ranked low on the list.
Thank you, Rona, for sharing those vivid experiences and reflections. Cheap tckets to Mexico vs daughter's high school graduaton ceremony! That's quite an interesting equivalence.
I was the first in my family ever to go to university. As the big day approached, my parents made it clear that they wanted to be there. I'm glad they were. I can see the framed photo of the 3 of us on that day from where I sit typing this comment.
Thank you David.. I guess that's the way it should be! An older brother of mine had been the first in the family to go to university. I don't know if my parents attended is graduaton - or whether he had one. I can't recall seeing any photos. I'm glad to hear you have that photo to help bring back the memory.
Graduations are wonderful achievements. Thanks so much for sharing this Jeffrey.
Jeffrey, You remind me of a time I missed a graduation, but not for lack of trying. My family generally celebrated these occasions, but it was understood that it might sometimes be impracticable to get to someone’s from afar. So my big brother did not expect me at his graduation from chiropractic school with his bachelor’s degree and professional certification. I was in New York in grad school myself, and he was in Portland, Oregon. I sent him my best wishes and then plotted with my parents to fly in, meet them, and surprise my brother. I was so excited. The secret was perfectly kept. My parents were thrilled to help sneak me in.
And then a big storm hit New York, shutting down airports. I got the shuttle to La Guardia and sat at my gate, crushed that no flights were coming or going. Bulldozers plodded back and forth, pushing heavy rainfall off runways into the sound.
I tried to rebook out of Newark, but wouldn’t arrive in time. I finally gave up and told my parents I couldn’t make it. My brother didn’t mind at all, and was touched that I had tried. But gosh, I missed that darned surprise effect of having the whole family there.
I wonder, if it had meant something to your parents, might they have said so? Maybe they were proud to let you grow up your own way, and that was enough. Thank you for the glimpse of Oxford ceremony!
That's a great story, Tara. And how generous of you to try to attend! Though it must have been really frustrating not to get there in the end. I guess I'll never know for sure about what my parents thought. But a good byproduct of these kinds of essay are the lost memories that float up to surprise us. I'm now beginning to recall more actions and words from those far-off days.
Yes, it’s nice to open the memory valve just a bit and see what comes. :-)
I appreciated this so very much. I don’t think young, developing brains typically have an innate sense of others’ needs unless it’s modeled or taught. I think back to some decisions I made, one which was to not go to a friend’s wedding because of schedule conflicts, but the truth is, I just didn’t prioritize it, didn’t value marriage in my own life so couldn’t conceive how it might be important to another. One of my biggest life regrets. Some of us are late-bloomers into our emotional IQ’s but perhaps we make up for lost time with the depths we feel things now? :)
Thank you, Kimberly. I really like your point about making up for lost time with the depths we feel now. I'd love to think that's true!
Is it a selfless thing to write about one's own selfishness? Or does self-preoccupation remain through adulthood, only to take on a different form?
Thank you for that question, Richard. In my case, I think selfishness has morphed into a kind of self-absorption. I guess it's hard to avoid in memoir.
You are, I must say, a gentleman to have responded in this way (or, at all) to my brutal questions.
I have only once written about myself, directly, for publication -- an essay on re-reading over many decades discloses a great deal about oneself to oneself. My example was Middlemarch, read at 20 and then again at 60.
But with the caveat that my intention was to illuminate by example the self-discovery that reading literature can reveal. My purpose was to discuss the great value in rereading the classics, necessitating one's reading at an earlier time of life.
But I hesitated before publishing it, because, frankly, who, other than immediate family, really cares about me? One must, as a writer, be very cautious and judicious about the intrusion of one's private life into public affairs. That is what ails all writers nowadays, spurred on by the awful college writing courses (write what you know, write what you feel) -- the disappearance of the borderline between public and private.
I think that the moment one enters the arena of essay writing, one is fair game for such questions! I'm sure that simply blurring the public and private can lead to unhelpful or undesirable results. I'd also like to think that the private and the public can illuminate one another, as in your example of your reading of Middlemarch. I don't know about college courses on writing, as I haven't taken one. Personally, in the year I've been writing essays, I've been trying to learn from writers I admire, who all have different ways of blending the personal and the public. Lamb and Hazlitt are obvious examples, but also Heaney, Pope, Ovid and Coleridge, as well as Didion and Orwell. All hopelessly beyond my reach, of course. But they all have something to teach me.
I will keep reading you.
"The opportunity to talk was lost forever." Jeffrey, this is such a touching reflection. I feel this so much because my paternal uncle is the only one left alive of his immediate family. My father and his sisters and brothers are all gone except him, and I this summer I was hoping to travel to CA to see him to ask him my questions in person (these really are not "phone" or "email" questions). This reminds me that sometimes we need to make the moment happen instead of waiting for the right moment to appear.
Thank you, Zina. You're right. We kid ourselves into thinking the moment will just occur. But as you suggest, we have to make it happen. I hope you can do that!
Really beautifully written, Jeffrey. It was a very different time. I’m sure it would have made no difference to the great pride your parents felt about your achievements. Graduation ceremonies are lovely, but it’s the graduation itself that counts.
Thank you so much, Maureen. Thank you also for sharing. And I agree. Ceremonies can be great, but in the end, most parents will want to see their children happy and fulfilled, regardless of how their achievements get celebrated.
Interesting. I graduated in absentia too when I was awarded an MSc, plus I was in my mid-forties so was not over-excited about a ceremony! I don't have a first degree. Seeing you speaking at a graduation in HK bought back memories - between 2004 and 2016 I went to HK twice a year to officiate at graduations - I absolutely loved it.
Thank you, June! I just having the chance to see you officiate, as I arrived in Hong Kong in 2018. I'd occasionally groan at the end of a busy week about having to give up my Saturday to make my way to a graduation, but afterwards I was invariably glad to have done so.
Thanks! I remember planning to skip my college graduation, but my parents just said they wanted to attend, so I acquiesced. Now I'm so glad I did.
Thanks, Albert. I'm sure that if my parents had done the same, I, too, would have gone along with it. I'm very glad to hear that it worked out so well for you.
So moving, so beautifully written: sharing our achievements and admiring our children's-- and then the deaths of your parents. Jeffrey, you write with such heart and soul that you make me want to sing! --then there's the marvelous Larkin. What a wonder you simply, brilliantly are.
Thank you, Mary! I'm humbled by your words, coming as they do from a master memoirist!
What a poignant & eloquent reflection, Jeffrey. It brings to mind a portion of “Little Gidding”:
“This is the use of memory:
For liberation - not less of love but expanding
Of love beyond desire, and so liberation
From the future as well as the past.”
In your willingness to share in such a vulnerable way with your audience, the redemptive catharsis you experience through art encourages authentic identification value & an avenue for purposeful introspection for your readers. Perhaps this is the greatest tribute you can offer to the memory of your beloved parents.
Thank you, Alisa. And thank you for those lovely lines from Little Gidding. Liberation from future and past - it's a powerful idea. And I like your phrase about an "avenue for purposeful lintrospection."
I know that my parents made it to the Sheldonian in the summer of 1984 to watch me graduate. I have no idea what they made of the Latin. The truly scary bit was it was the day they were being introduced to my boyfriend's slightly eccentric parents. Many years later I like you had the privilege to sit on the platform at many graduation ceremonies in Sheffield. I absolutely loved them, and particularly the massively proud and irreverent cheering and shouting from parents who had travelled from China, from Indonesia and Malaysia, from Nigeria and Ghana, to watch their children walk across a stage in a gown and silly hat. Glorious.
Wow, Sarah, that's exactly the year I would have gone to my ceremony. And I agree about the joy of seeing so many happy and proud parents together. It's just a shame I didn't have the imagination to envisage that for my own.