Last Saturday my granddaughter, Luisa, graduated from high school. She’s the youngest of my grandchildren, which reminded me of the passage of time, starting out as babies and now one out of college, two in college, and Luisa soon off to college. Thinking about graduation makes me realize what a shared rite of passage it is. Karen and I have skirted around the notion of rituals, probably because there are no well-defined rituals as we age—some people have retirement parties, but it’s not a given, and certainly a funeral is a ritual for the living, not the departed. Reflecting on the joyful event later, I noted the. . .
Changes in Our City and Schools
Luisa is the only one who attended school in Minneapolis, so it was my first big urban school event. As we took our seats in the large auditorium, the first thing I noticed was the diversity. In fact, the school is 60.4% white, 21.3% African American, 9.7% Hispanic, 3.9% are of two or more races, 3.7% Asian, with 0.8% American Indian, and 0.2% Pacific Islander. The Somali families immediately stood out because of their colorful dress and larger families — grandparents, siblings including children and babies, and moms and dads. Minnesota has the largest Somali population in the US, with most of them living in Minneapolis. The women wore the traditional head scarf and the baati, a long overdress, and many men wore the macaawiis, a sarong, and the benadiri kufia, a cap. But that doesn’t do justice to the gold jewelry, glittering fabrics, sculpted make-up, and spectrum of colors. The women seemed to glisten with their beauty, and the men stood tall.
The Graduation
Once we were settled, the graduates marched in with the band playing Pomp and Circumstance. I teared up as I watched the students walking down the aisle and parents standing on seats to get a picture—aren’t smart phones wonderful! The trappings were all there — the school band’s terrific rendition of the National Anthem, the choir singing Stephen Paulus’s The Road Home, and the articulate student speaker, who was a young Somali woman.
Before awarding the 441 diplomas, the principal practically begged us not to make a lot of noise or to be in the aisles as each graduate’s name was announced. The silence lasted very briefly. Somali names like Abdi and Ali clustered at the beginning, and the families were so excited to see their students walk across that stage that they went wild, jumping and cheering and blowing vuvuzelas—so much for quiet. I suspect that in some families these may have been the first high school graduates.
I loved the excitement, though not everyone loved the ruckus, possibly because we live in a newly multicultural city, originally dominated by less effusive Scandinavians. I believe in honoring the different ways in which we celebrate. I also noticed that the cheering settled quickly and we could still hear the names. By the time Luisa crossed the stage, her brothers decided that it was okay to make some noise. Sitting on either side of me, they jumped and shouted. Ironically, on my video, you can only hear her first name being called; their celebratory noise blotted out the rest.
Intergenerational
After the graduation, the auditorium lobby was filled with families and graduates, everyone taking pictures. It felt like family because many of the graduates knew my son because he’d been their principal in middle school. It was joyful to see former students reconnect with him. I was not left out: a former student of mine recognized me and gave me a big hug, telling me that his daughter had just graduated. The father and I also overlapped at the U of MN, when I was in graduate school, and he was an undergraduate. When we met, walking across campus, he would say “You’re my inspiration!” What a circle; what an intergenerational experience!
Which brings me back to the roles that we play as young and old. Yesterday, struggling out of a store with a heavy box of kitty litter, my other granddaughter, Maggie, grabbed it, insisting that. “I can do things to help you, and you listen to me and give me advice and help me.” There it was, from the mouth of the next generation, how the generations support each other when we are not celebrating rituals. Sometimes I am sad about growing older, but her words reminded me that I would experience none of this without growing older. My older self is also a bundle of memories going back to post WWII, the 50’s, 60’s, etc. I have a perspective to share that can enrich everyone my life touches.
Through the entire graduation, I was awed by the stretch of generations, from grandparents in wheelchairs to babies crying during the ceremony—how we are all one, especially in the rituals that celebrate life passages. Luisa, too, reminded me of how generations stretch across the planet, because she was born in Guatemala. As her grandmother and a former teacher at the graduation, I represented all the grandmothers, parents, and educators throughout the world who love and support the next generation. We are all connected; we are all family.
Karens' Descant 