Today was T.O.'s graduation day. She received her MLIS from nearby University. (She also has a B.A. in Art History from even more nearby school.) The whole day was a lesson in friendship - the point of it, the value, the nuances and bittersweetness and tenderness and fear that are wrapped up in the idea of "friends".
Her parents were so glad that we could be there with her, and thanked us over and over for coming. Where else would we be? It never occurred to me that we would be anywhere else, and for as much as I tried to be copacetic about it, I'd have been disappointed if we hadn't been able to go to the ceremony. I remember her talking about maybe wanting to get a graduate degree in library science, and then applying (would she have to take the GRE? Thank God, no!), and then getting accepted. Buying the books (horribly expensive - insanely expensive, even for graduate classes, even as compared to law school books). Working on the assignments. Reading the novels and writing the papers. How much of me wanted to have gone with her, taken each class with her, gotten the degree with her? Not to take anything away from her, or to have decreased the fact that this was entirely her day - that's not what I mean at all. But I saw what she was learning and how she was growing in something that I'll never understand in the same way, and along with feeling incredibly proud I felt a little bit left behind. I didn't, though. I made the choice to not take the classes, not do the work, not read the novels and write the papers and make the struggle and sacrifices, and I'm doubly proud of her because she was brave and strong enough to do it.
So her parents said "Thank you" repeatedly, and I never said anything meaningful in return because all I could think was, "Where else would I be?"
I spent some time last evening trying to decide what to wear to the ceremony. It wasn't a pleasant hour, squishing myself into a suit, 2 dresses, and a skirt, only to decide that I'd wear black pants and a white linen shirt. There was one funny moment (more surreal, really) when I had somehow wedged myself into the dress I wore in my high school friend Em's wedding - black watch plaid with a black velvet collar, very "grown-up" and gorgeous and warm, so it seemed like just the thing for January in this state. Well, it wouldn't have been the thing at all for a Catholic university's graduation ceremony, because I looked like a prostitute at a court appearance. I've never had cleavage like I somehow managed to create in that dress. Eeew.
So this morning I dressed in the black and white ensemble - it was definitely comfortable - and at some point realized I was horribly nervous. I was polishing my nails and could barely bring brush to nail because my hands were shaking so badly. What was there to be nervous about? I just wanted everything to go perfectly for T.O. and was concerned (afraid?) that something might go wrong. Was I dressed badly, too casually? Would she be embarrassed? Would we be late and make her late, since we were riding together? Would the person reading her name pronounce it incorrectly when she was on stage to get her diploma? I managed to keep everything in line until they arrived (on time) and we left (on time). We got to the venue early and wandered for a bit. I wanted to impart some last-minute pithy bit of knowledge, or send her on her way with a laugh, but I was so close to tears that I had to bite my lip.
While we waited for the ceremony to start, I met her sister for the first time, her older sister by 2 years. It's a significant relationship in her life and I've felt a little bit separate from "that part of her". That sounds so deliberate, as if T.O. has set out for us to be separate, and I know that's not the case. Clarification: my own relationship with and understanding of my sister (who's also older than I am) is so complex, it's important to me to see first-hand and understand hers. Maybe so I have a decent model for my own behavior, or maybe so I have some hope for the future. I don't know. But it was incredibly nice to meet Shannon because she's a window into a part of T.O. that was shadowy before. So while we sat and watched people file into the auditorium, I thought about the evolution of our friendship and what brought us from just knowing each other at work, to somehow each of us knowing that the other was someone who could be trusted with whatever we needed, to sitting in an auditorium on a Saturday morning waiting to celebrate a graduate degree and an incredibly wonderful new period of opportunity.... Lump in my throat again. Her family talked amongst themselves, and we sat silently and just looked around, but it was OK - comfortable. Not much that I could've said just then would've made sense.
The ceremony was long and, for lack of a better word, Catholic. But I'll never forget it, either. There was the usual pro-school blathering (and the Alumni Association representative was particularly incomprehensible, which is never a good sign), combined with a truly horrid Benediction at the end by someone who was hungry for The Stage: "LET ME HEAR YOU SAY AMEN!" But the Commencement Address, given by a notable figure, was meaningful and unforgettable. (He's the president and associate professor of moral theology at Aquinas Institute of Theology in St. Louis.) He talked about changing the world, or at least oneself, by being happy. Not the kind of "happy" that is the totally subjective commercialized bullshit that is projected on us by the marketing people (did you hear that, brand new MBAs?!), but the "happy" that comes from leading productive, ethical lives. And that comes from, among other things, being generative (leaving something behind, whether children or some other legacy such as work or good works), having a vocation (not just a thing to do, but listening to the call of one's life), and having friendships. The friendships that matter are the ones that challenge us to be who we were meant to be, even if they (the friendships) aren't always comfortable. But they mean everything. In the end, if we don't have friendship, there isn't much that we do have.
That's so it. That's what this whole thing's about. I didn't have any other plans today. It was just a Saturday in January. I never work on Saturdays, and I didn't have anything else that I needed to do today. Sure, if today hadn't been graduation I'd have slept late, read a lot, probably cleaned the house, folded laundry, caught up on my email, burned some CDs. Sent that baby card to Amy and Eric. Written some thank you notes for Christmas gifts. But really, even if I'd had something terribly important planned for today - haircut appointments that couldn't be rescheduled, tickets to a sold-out play, friends wanting to come from out of town, checks that needed to be cashed before they expired - I'd have still wanted to be at that graduation ceremony. It's all about the sense that without this, there's nothing else. What's the point of sleeping in, if my crazy dreams can't be told over tea to my best friend?
After the ceremony we went to the Weber Grill Restaurant. I had one of the best steaks of my life, a 14-ounce New York Strip that was as tender as the chocolate Bundt cake that they brought T.O. for dessert at our pleading. She was mildly embarrassed, but at least they didn't sing. It was another bittersweet experience, mostly because I chose to sit across the round table from her. I see her perhaps the most often of all the people at the table, so I felt like I had to go against my baser nature and insist that others be able to sit next to her. We still managed to share many "speaking looks," though. I was just crazy-proud and sad and happy all at once. Too emotional to be talking a lot, anyway. She sat between her dad and sister and looked frazzled and happy and tired and over-emotional, too. What could I say? I wanted to whack her on the ankle with my foot, just to communicate something personal and yet without deep meaning. But the table was big and our legs are short and we'd have probably cried anyway.
On the way home we talked about her job offer from the public library near the big city. I'm not doing a good job of being impartial about it because I think it's a great opportunity and I have a good feeling about it. I'm trying not to push (although I'm sure it doesn't seem that way). It was another conversation like we've had thousands of times before, but this time it was in the back of her dad's SUV, in the dark, and we were talking about her potentially moving away from the area. It was one of those "fraught with meaning" conversations that doesn't seem that way at the time. We were just mulling over the meaning of being a manager. I was trying to say, "You Can Totally Do That!" But I think I was coming off as if I was saying, "Here's what you should do; take it from me, 'cause I'm older than you and know better...." She didn't need lectures, particularly today. I should've just stuffed my glove in my mouth and held her hand.
So I'm home now and thinking about this, and it's like the parable of the man who's walking and sees the pebbles and picks them up and puts them in his pocket. He gets up the next morning and the pebbles have turned to jewels and he's both glad and sorry: glad that he's taken some, sorry that he hasn't taken more. The original parable ends "and so it is with education." I'm both glad and sorry, too. Glad I've had this amazing, life-changing friendship for a period that now both seems to stretch endlessly back (so many opportunities squandered!) and seems to be unfairly brief. Sorry that I haven't been more cognizant of it, treated it (and her) with more respect and reverence, taken the time to learn more from her experience, and been silent more around her so that I could hear her better.
Learn from this.
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