I hiked to The Lion’s Den today, a four-mile roundtrip journey I like to take a couple times per month or maybe once a week. The trail leads across the top of a rim that is also the outer boundary to Ft. Lewis College. As I crossed the apex of a seasonal ski slope, now covered in spring green, I heard the public address system and the cheers of graduation and I turned toward the athletic field to see the dispersed crowd and the colorful balloons; the sounds and sights of celebration.

 We’re at the end of a pandemic, so the college will host seven – yes seven – graduations in order to make sure everybody and every family is awarded and honored. Everyone gets to attend-and socially distance. There are seven other graduations in my memory some great and some not so good – but not all on the same day. 

One of the best was when my daughter graduated from college and didn’t get to walk in the entry procession. Why? Sprained ankle? Broken foot? Knee surgery? No. She had a clarinet – and a minor in music – and she was playing Pomp and Circumstance with the college symphonic band as the solemn pairs of candidates made their way to alphabetically arranged seating.

I vaguely remember my own high school graduation. At the time, I thought I had bigger fish to fry. I was getting married in six weeks. But, I do remember being troubled that the gowns were gold (for the young women) and black (for the young men). In my mind, this was a grave error. The school colors were orange and black. I also remember that I successfully did NOT trip over the microphone cords.

I remember little of my younger brother’s high school graduation-except to confirm that the graduates actually had orange and black gowns. I was too busy keeping my toddler out of mischief. But I do remember my brother crossing the stage, head held high as the speaker announced not only my brother’s name but his list of achievements and awards – an embarrassingly long list that went on and on, causing him to blush and duck as he received his diploma and then exited – his minutes on the stage over – but not the list of honors. 

I was not there for my brother’s graduation with Master’s degree or PhD – nor was my brother. Good thing he received so much adulation in high school, for the university graduating classes and departments are so large at Medical College of Virginia one doesn’t even cross the stage – or have to attend.

My children all had outdoor high school graduations in local stadiums. Not one of them tripped over the microphone cord.

The next memorable graduation was a ceremony I was not able to attend, but I will forever remember the front page newspaper photo and story of my daughter-in-law graduating from Colorado Mesa University on Mother’s Day, 2003 – crossing the stage with her newborn in a sling. 

And finally I, belatedly, completed my college degree and crossed the stage at the age of 51; my three children in attendance, my brother and SIL and parents in the seats – a milestone indeed; and one of my proudest moments. As my name was read, with my major in organizational management and my minor in music, the young musicians who were gathered on stage to play the Battle Hymn of the Republic broke the rules. They cheered – just for me. And I beamed. I was part of the cast in their musical a few months earlier. It is a nice feeling to belong.

I’ll attend another graduation soon. Another first. My first grandchild to graduate. But then, he’s an old hand at this. He  crossed the stage with his mom 18 years ago.

Seven graduations. And do you know what? None of us tripped over the microphone cord. Sometimes the things you worry about just don’t ever come to pass. Then again, the things you thought you wouldn’t live to see? You just might get to celebrate them.