Note: This evening I share an essay I wrote in response to the prompt that I shared with my memoir class this week. Graduation, as strange as it will be this year, will be important and memorable to all graduates. The following are my memories.
Middle Tennessee State University: December 2000
I stepped forward with my hood folded over my arm. My advisor Will Brantley stepped behind me, took the hood, shook it out, and placed it over my head, smoothing out the large bottom of the hood so that the satin stripes of white and blue showed. The dean shook my hand and took the time to congratulate me on the quality of my dissertation that compared the work of three white trash authors. What a moment that was! I imagine the crowd clapped, but I wasn’t aware of the applause; I was just thrilled that the dean spoke to me personally during the ceremony, affirming my achievement.
I “graduated” from a doctoral level program in English. Of course, usually we don’t call this a graduation; instead, it is a conferral of a degree. In my case, it was a doctor of arts degree, a degree that has since disappeared to be replaced by the more common degree at the doctoral level—the PhD. I graduated with just six other doctoral candidates in the English department. I knew none of them. MTSU is known for working with their students to provide classes that allow the fulltime worker to complete a degree; therefore, some of the graduates had begun their programs well before I did and others somewhat after I did. None of that was important to me. Completing my doctorate was all that mattered.
University of Kansas: August 1975
The flat cardboard mailer arrived at my townhouse in Decatur, Georgia, one sunny afternoon in September. I had just finished my teaching day at Columbia High School and was thinking of my work and my students. I glanced at the address and immediately recognized what I was holding—the diploma associated with my master of science degree.
I “graduated” from the program in English Education by completing a thesis in which I argued that thematic units of study were better for students than the stand-alone units of grammar, literature, and composition. I had completed the thesis in time for the August graduation, but my husband and I had moved from the Kansas City area early in August so that he could start his doctoral program at Emory University in Atlanta. I could not attend my graduation and really did not mind. The degree was a practical achievement: I needed a master’s degree to advance across the pay scale in the public education system.
Olivet Nazarene College: May 1969
The day was cool and cloudy, a rather typical early May graduation day. We graduates lined up by the kinds of bachelor’s degrees that we would be receiving and made our way into Chalfant Hall where the graduation ceremony was held. Standing on the side of the stage till I heard my name, I stepped quickly across to the where President Reed waited with the diploma in one hand and the other hand outstretched to shake my hand in congratulation.
I graduated with a bachelor of arts degree in English with minors in education and psychology. I graduated summa cum laude with a 3.92 GPA, but was disappointed because I wasn’t at the very top of the class. There were two others who had perfect 4.0 averages. And I was more than ready to be gone from the college. It had been a rough ending to a good college career. Political unrest, externally because of the Vietnam War, and internally because of the tension between liberal and conservative professors, had robbed me of any sense of belonging.
Union City Community High School: May 1965
A sunny, mild morning greeted us 96 graduates as we arrived at the school gymnasium. Strangely enough, we lined up by height and in male-female formation. I was between Ronnie M and Rick Z who were not too tall. But once we took our seats, I went up to the stage because I was to give one of the two speeches.
I graduated as valedictorian, a goal I had had for as long as I could remember. My brother had graduated long before me, either as valedictorian or salutatorian. One of my sisters had graduated as salutatorian. I was determined that I would reach the top spot. I had always been competitive; I studied as hard as I possibly could all the time. I could not imagine not getting straight As. Getting a B on a grade card was enough to send me into a tail spin.
I have recounted the four stories of my four graduations to show one thing: I grew up! When I look back at that first graduation, I am almost ashamed that my competitiveness ruled my life. I could not see myself as worthwhile unless I had achieved at a higher level than everyone else. But, at the time, that achievement afforded me a kind of joy.
By the second graduation, I was still competitive enough to be disappointed that I wasn’t at the “top of the heap,” but that disappointment was dwarfed by my disillusionment in the culture within which I lived. Still, I was pleased that I had achieved with the highest academic honors.
My third graduation, my non-ceremony graduation, was neither competitive nor disillusioned, but it did not give me a sense of joy. I had a 4.0 GPA this time, but by then I realized that those grades came to me fairly easily. I did not have to compete; I just had to do my work.
My fourth graduation, however, really was a kind of “crowning glory” for me, not because of another 4.0 GPA, but because I had learned so much and had gained so many experiences that I knew the joy of achieving for the sheer pleasure of learning. I wish it had not taken me so many years and four graduations to get to that point in my life, but I’m glad that the fourth graduation set me on the path to an extremely successful professorship—not because I was competitive, but because I loved what I was doing. Every day I got to share my love for everything English.
A Myriad of Things 