“Always high, never straight, we’re the class of ’78”. That was my high school class motto and I’m pretty sure chanting that out loud was the only school spirit I ever spread. It was May of 1978 and I was a 17-year-old married senior. Back then, we were on the quarter system and were allowed seven unexcused absences. Did they really expect me to miss only seven days during a three-month period? Impossible.
My senior year of high school can only be described as a whirlwind of parties and hangovers. When I turned 16, my parents did a bizarre thing. They bought me a van. A Chevy Van. If you’re my age, you’ll understand the significance. (Anyone remember Sammy John’s 1973 hit song “Chevy Van”?) It wasn’t a minivan or a passenger van. It was a party van. After going to the Chevy dealership and picking out a brand-new empty van we headed to Savannah to have it customized. That’s what you did in the 70’s. When completed, it was ready to be the demise of anyone who entered.
Try to visualize this. The van was brown with teardrop windows. It had a desert mural scene painted in red, yellow, and orange on both sides and a skull tucked in the background. Inside was covered floor to ceiling in beige and brown shag carpet . The driver and passenger seats were tan leather and swiveled 180º. In the back was a large bed and a sky light. The bedroom was separated from the main cabin with decorative wooden spindle poles. In the middle was a refrigerator and another seat. On top of the fridge sat a small television with an attached video game. I’m pretty sure the only game back then was “pong”, but when you’re high it can provide hours of entertainment. There were electrical outlets throughout allowing convenient access to power. It was beautiful. You’re probably thinking the same thing most people have asked me over the years, “What the hell were your parents thinking?” and my answer was always the same. I had no idea.
The mornings I went to school everyone would pile in the van and start partying. We would get high and listen to music. Our vice-principal would come and tap on the window and exclaim he could smell rope burning. After being ignored, he would plead with me to lock the van so the students would go to class. This happened every day. He was a saint. Most days, I would be too high to stay at school and would leave to continue partying somewhere else.
In May of 1978, I heard my name on the loudspeaker being called to the principal’s office. He and I had become close over the years as I was always in trouble. As I walked into his office that day, he sat at his desk tediously signing the diplomas that were stacked behind him. He informed me that I wouldn’t be allowed to graduate because I had 30 unexcused absences and was only allowed seven. Hell, I thought I had more. They must have missed some. My blood began to boil, and I was furious. You see, I wanted to drop out of high school the previous year and my father put his foot down and insisted I complete my high school education. He said he didn’t care what I did afterwards, but I was finishing school. Now I was standing in the office being told I wouldn’t get a diploma. Dammit, I should’ve quit after all. Then my wheels started turning. I blurted out that I knew he had graduated two people the previous year and was certain they had more absences than I had and if he didn’t let me graduate, I would report him to the board of education. Silly, right? Also, I threw out a couple more threats hoping I would get his attention. I think I struck a nerve in him. To my surprise, he swiveled his chair around, searched through the stack of diplomas until he found mine. Once it was in his hand, he looked at me and said, “I am going to sign this, but I don’t want to see you at graduation”. I walked out of his office banned from the ceremony with my diploma tucked under my arm. It was a sweet victory because I had no intention of going anyway. Just like that, I was done. The next four years turned out to be a downward spiral ending only when I crashed headfirst into a pit of utter despair.
In 1990, I had been sober for eight years and was finally finishing college with my Bachelor’s degree. Graduation was in December and my newborn daughter was four months old. I was tired! Besides, it was just a ceremony. Pomp and circumstance has never been my cup of tea. So, I didn’t go. At least I wasn’t banned, right?
The problem is I never considered it might be important to all of my family and friends. They supported and sacrificed for me to get my education. They listened as I complained about professors, classes, and grades. They took on responsibilities as I stayed up late studying and cramming for tests. Crossing the finish line is not just my accomplishment. The achievement belonged to others as well. It was selfish for me to think otherwise.
When I graduated from Law School in 1995, my mom asked me to please attend the ceremony. She wanted to watch me walk. I had no idea it was important to her. On a Saturday morning in May, I strolled across the stage as my family sat in the audience beaming with pride. The dean handed me my diploma and my eyes welled up with tears. This moment was a culmination of all of the hard work that got me here. 17 years earlier I was banned from my high school graduation and here I was getting a law degree with the love and support of my family. The faculty and all of the other students were my friends. I was active and involved in the activities at my school. It was a community.
One of my dear friends called me yesterday and asked me what I was doing on May 15th. She is graduating from college and would like for me to virtually attend. What an honor to be asked. This is a special day for her, and she wants her loved ones to be there. It’s a special day for me, too. I’ve watched her struggle and triumph. I’ve watched her mature and grow intellectually. It is not only a ceremony but a celebration of her hard work and the collaboration it took for her to reach her goals. So yes, I will be there. Whatever is planned for that day, I will put it down and be there to witness her get that diploma.
Congratulations to all the 2021 graduates out there who have earned their spot on the stage during a most difficult year. You all are my heroes.
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