Sam's graduation provokes some memories for Mom

Today Samantha brought home her cap and gown and recounted her amazing last day of *official* high school, filled with teachers, counselors, and students’ tears of sadness as this most-loved class of 2010 prepares to graduate and move on in separate directions. Teachers have said that every once in a while you get a class of students that is amazing, and this one was amazing in personality, character, accomplishments, initiative, charity, brotherly love and respect. I’m glad for the different educational venues Sam successfully navigated from public school kindergarten through 8 years of home education beside her brother and sister, to entrance into Freeport Area High School where she blossomed as an individual of strong character, defined beliefs, religious, political, and social, and realized her potential as a leader, a speaker, a friend, and a hard-worker. She learned to make friends and be a friend while keeping family first. She graduates with a 4.3 gpa and is headed to Grove City College where she will play soccer, major in English, and pursue their pre-med program.

But while Sam’s off to celebrate the last day, I sat down on the couch and while twirling her 2010 tassle on my finger, I was drawn back to my own high school experiences. I entered 9th grade after newly moving to Silver Spring MD. Previously I’d attended a public elementary school in Washington DC, and then bussed to a private school in rural Maryland where I’d had good friends but no one lived nearby. We’d moved because my mother had remarried a man I strongly disliked, a not-recovered alcoholic who eventually shot and killed her when I was 19. Those were literally rough years for me and only one teacher/class sponsor really came alongside me and was my friend – Mr. Hite, who left before I did and became a priest. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed till just a moment ago, sitting on the couch thinking of these wonderful times my daughter has enjoyed and all the plans for graduation and baccalaureate and a graduation party in July still to come.

My class’ last week of school, just as is planned for Freeport, included several days of practicing. We had an outdoor stage on the football field as I recall – that was Plan A. Plan B was to move the ceremony into the school auditiorium in case of rain. My class was over 600. (The whole week was somewhat spoiled for me already because my real father who’d taken off shortly after I was born had written a letter to my mother that I was not to have seen, but did, recounting every penny he’d ever spent for my upkeep as a caution against anyone expecting him to help with my college. My grandparents who lived with my mother and I were my only stability. So, the big day arrived. I think my father did show up with pearl earrings as a gift, which would have been fine if I’d never seen his letter. My mother gave me a Bulova gold watch (don’t remember if my grandparents gave me a gift of not) What I remember is that we lined up outside when it was obviously about to pour rain. When the sky opened up, we stood and got soaked. Eventually word was passed around that everyone should go to their homeroom to get their diplomas. The halls were packed. I eventually got to my homeroom; I think most kids were already gone by the time I got there. I fished through wet cardboard boxes, found my diploma, and drove home or maybe went to a party, don’t recall.

Like Sam, I’d worked hard and mostly excelled in high school, was well liked by most teachers, had put on the school’s first Senior Banquet with am amazing talent show that won me a good bit of recognition, worked behind stage for school plays, did some artwork for the school, and was a class officer. During our senior year, I came up with the idea to build a big wooden, coffin-shaped, box and painted it with school colors. It went in a display case and we filled it with all the memorabilia we could gather from high school years. At the close of school, several of the boys carried it to storage in the school attic – to be opened at our reunions. I was suppose to organize the first reunion – sadly, I never did and have never even heard if our class ever had a reunion. Northwood High School, home of the Indians, robbed the class of 1964 of their graduation, I feel sadder about it tonight than I ever have, but am thankful Sam is having this wonderful experience.