At my college graduation, my father whispered, “We…
“Yeah,” he replied, “but we also need to take care of a few other things.” Don’t worry. All of the news is positive. We’ll give you a thorough briefing in approximately an hour.
Around one-thirty, families started to stream into the auditorium, and I saw my dad right away. Throughout my upbringing, Dad had worn his I’m-doing-this-under-protest expression to every school performance, science fair, and academic awards ceremony.
Even though Mom had dressed correctly for the event, she continued to check her watch as though she had more important things to do. Naturally, Marcus arrived stylishly late, carrying the nice camera Dad had indicated and sporting sunglasses indoors, albeit he spent more time taking selfies than taking family portraits.
Emma, my younger sister, sat between Mom and Dad and browsed through her phone with the practiced disinterest of a junior in high school who had been forced to attend another family function.
Technically, they had saved me a seat, but I would have to clamber over others to get to it because it was at the end of the row. The all-purpose family seating arrangement that proclaimed, “You’re included, but barely.”
As I got closer, Dad murmured, “There she is,” with a tone of resigned tolerance. “The graduate.” How does it feel to know that this is finally over?”
“Expensive,” Mom said in a kind way. “Twenty-three thousand dollars a year for four years, plus books, living expenses, and that computer you insisted you needed.”
Marcus said, lowering his sunglasses to look at me, “Don’t forget the coffee shop outfit, but I suppose you’ll be maintaining that job for a while longer, right? The market is quite competitive. What was your major once more?”
“Molecular biology,” I muttered.
“All right. He said, “Molecular biology,” as if I had informed him that underwater basket weaving was my major. “Very useful. I’m sure there are plenty of opportunities there.
Emma kept her eyes on her phone. “Can’t we just finish this? Jessica and I are scheduled to meet at the mall at four o’clock.
I sat down and made an effort to concentrate on the good. This would all end in two hours. My diploma would be with me. After completing my undergraduate degree, I would be able to move on to the next stage of my life, whatever that might entail.
At precisely two p.m., the ceremony got underway. with the customary processional. As students streamed in by department, I strolled with my fellow biology majors, the majority of whom had family members enthusiastically applauding them from the crowd. My parents were seated, and I could tell that my father was already estimating how long this would take.
With his customary dominating demeanor, Dean Morrison took the podium. His silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses gave him the appearance of Central Casting’s ideal of a great university dean. He was the kind of academic leader who demanded respect without demanding it; he was soft-spoken but forceful.
He said, “Welcome to our 156th commencement ceremony, families and friends.” “Today, we celebrate the start of new chapters in the lives of 847 remarkable young people, in addition to the completion of academic requirements.”
The opening remarks adhered to the customary format, which included reminders about mobile phone etiquette, acknowledgments of faculty, and recognition of families.
I scanned the audience, noting which families had brought expert photographers and ornate flower arrangements, and I only half listened. A small film team seemed to be filming the Hendersons’ daughter’s graduation from the third row.
My family appeared to be going through a required business training session as they sat in their designated seats.
Dean Morrison went on, “I’d like to take a moment to recognize some exceptional achievements within this graduating class before we begin conferring degrees.”
A select few students stand out each year not only for their academic prowess but also for their contributions to research that deepens our understanding of the subjects they have chosen.
Anxiety fluttered through me. A number of my classmates had completed outstanding research projects. A article on sustainable agriculture was released by Jennifer Martinez. A novel statistical model for forecasting climatic patterns had been created by Robert Kim. I was hoping for at least an honorable mention for my work on protein synthesis pathways alongside Dr. Hendricks.
The recipient of this year’s Outstanding Undergraduate Research Award has spent three years researching cutting-edge methods of protein folding that have the potential to completely transform our understanding of how Alzheimer’s disease develops.
She has been invited to discuss her research at the International Conference on Neurodegenerative Diseases this autumn, and her work has already been accepted for publication in the Journal of Molecular Biology.
My heart began to beat more quickly. I had no notion that my study on protein folding was being considered for any awards. I was unaware of the importance of the journal or the conference invitation until Dr. Hendricks informed me that the paper had been approved for publication.
I looked at my parents. Dad was presumably calculating parking meter time while mumbling something to Mom.
Would you kindly come on stage with me, Sarah Elizabeth Thompson?”
My name came through the speakers in the audience like a physical blow. My family was among the several hundred guests who turned to stare at me; their reactions to my postponing the wedding ranged from bewildered to slightly irritated.
As camera flashes went out around the auditorium, I stumbled to the stage and accepted Dean Morrison’s crystal trophy. This was bizarre. My family had never witnessed me receive any form of distinction during my four years in college.
They had never bothered to read the emails or department newsletters that announced the majority of my academic accomplishments.
