Graduation Daze
I enjoyed reading the Indy article “Class of 2016 Displays an Enterprising Bent.” 116 undergraduates received diplomas from Laguna College of Art and Design on Monday, May 23. On Tuesday, May 24 they returned to their parents’ basements. “Hey, Bob want to play ‘Grand Allowance Theft’? I designed it. Look on the wall over there. That’s my degree in game design.” Bob nods approval. “Cool. Does your mom know you put a nail in the wall like a loser?” The recent grad laughs. “Nah, she tells herself and friends I’m super successful and work over at GE.” Bob sighs. “Not cool dude. GE makes washers. You’ll be doing laundry in no time. Change GE to Electronic Arts. I think they did the video game “Left 4 Dead.” Boys laugh. “Yep that nails us.”
The Laguna College president told the class of 2016, “stay courageous and stay in touch.” A shiver ran through the room. Parents took the remark personally. Whispers broke out. “I’m tapped out. Got no courage left. Four years now that boy of mine threw paint around the room and told me to hush he’s creating.” A fellow parent commiserated. “Yeah sounds right. Mine assured me that Jackson Pollack’s mother never said a thing.” The parents shook their heads and said in unison, “Go live at the Pollack’s. Don’t stay in touch.”
On the surface, graduation is a happy time. Below the surface, graduation is a scary time. There’s change in the air for young adults and change, too, for the old adults that the young adults have turned them into. One parent was overheard saying, “That kid stole my youth.” Another haggard parent replied, “You got off easy. I lost my looks and college took my money for a cosmetic surgeon.”
I have tried to reawaken memories from my graduation back in 1974. The college ran on trimesters. At the beginning of the last and final trimester of my senior year, the college sent letters announcing graduation day to parents. The whole family got excited and started making hotel and restaurant reservations. I wasn’t as excited. Unbeknownst to the gang’s (almost) here, I was not a senior, but actually a junior. I was a year behind with nine weeks to go before my picture snapping mother arrived. It was a brutal nine weeks taking a year’s worth of classes. I don’t remember much. So the other day, I asked my psychiatrist to help me retrieve those memories to share with readers. “Not you again,” he said on my arrival. “Next.” I begged him to see me. “Don’t dredge up the past. Forget it,” he advised. I said that’s just the point. I need them back. With a final uh-uh, he relented and hypnotized me. A short time later, I woke up bocking like a chicken. “That doesn’t sound good,” I muttered. “Don’t be concerned. Actually, it’s a breakthrough.” The doctor explained that my last nine-week course load was all science and math classes because I had run out of easy ones. The biology classes required dissecting chickens. The classes were traumatic for me and I inadvertently subjugated the stress by replacing real chickens for rubber ones, which works better in my present line of work.
So heed my advice graduating class of 2016. I wish you well and the good fortune to find work that’s your passion, too. Bock, bock, bock.
Crantz was refused his diploma until he returned an overdue book to the school library. Crantz couldn’t remember ever being in the library. By chance, he noticed the missing book on stage. He had used the book as a prop in a directing class. He didn’t know back then books were to read.
