Monday, June 4, 2012

And so it goes…




Oh, I know graduations. I have graduated myself a few times, but oh, my, I have participated in many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many graduations. I have been in graduations in the morning, in the afternoon, in the early evening, and post-sunset. I have worn academic robes and regalia in graduations and I have also worn suits both light and dark. I have been in outdoor graduations and indoor graduations. I have watched students in caps and gowns and also watched girls in white dresses and young men in summer suits. I have had string quartets play in graduations, an organ, a brass quintet, and bagpipes. I have heard speeches. Yes, most of the speeches are similar—no surprise, it is a graduation! (However, as I think about the variety in these graduations, I do not think I have ever been cold at a graduation!!). Last week, as the faculty sequestered itself in the Dining Hall (having gone through the security checks) awaiting the line-up for the beginning of the commencement exercises for 2012, a young faculty member and friend asked me, “Do these graduations ever get old for you?” Obviously I look a little long-in-the-tooth, since I guess the subtext was, “Gee whiz, after all these decades, is graduation boring for you old people?”


Twenty-five years ago today (!!) I participated in my first graduation as a teacher. I remember it vividly—the string quartet, the warm North Carolina sun, the hot blue robes, and the sensation of being moved by these graduates. I will be honest—I didn’t much like that first graduation class of seniors! I doubt any of them are readers of the blog, and I don’t want to hurt their feelings, but they weren’t the most winning bunch. I taught a handful of them in a Government and Economics class, directed a few in Fiddler on the Roof but they just seemed a wan lot overall. But, but, but, during this first graduation as a teacher, my eyes welled with tears and I could hardly believe how moved and excited I was by these graduates. And I didn’t really like them! There were two graduates who got away with academic murder. These two hadn’t done much work in their classes, so everyone buzzed around them and wrote out a contract in the spring binding them to do work or else—no graduation! They didn’t do the work, and I asked the headmaster how the school would hold them to this contract we designed. He smiled sheepishly and said we couldn’t—I learned from this: don’t create contracts you won’t keep. Anyway, what moved me in that graduation 25 years ago??? I suppose I was caught up in what Danish philosopher Kierkegard once wrote over 150 years ago: “If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but…for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible.” In spite of my lukewarm response to that Class of 1987 (perhaps totally unfounded—although I am not in touch with a single one of them, and that is the only class about which I could say that!) that realization of their possibilities moved in me that graduation, and continues to move me every year.

So, no—it never gets boring. The possible never gets boring! What our young adults may achieve and change never gets boring.

Graduation at KA is more than just a bunch of kids in caps and gowns and relieved parents. It is a state affair. His Majesty attends, walks in graduation, and every other year, speaks to the class. This year, of course, he was more than a head of state. He was a proud father. The graduate’s mother and siblings sat in the front row, just a few feet away from me, as a proud family for the first born. I have seen that look on families’ faces for 25 years. I know that look, and no, that also, never gets boring.

Graduation is extraordinary here. It is outside on what is known as Commencement Lawn, the area behind the Administration Building, bordered by the bell tower, the library and the headmaster’s house. Over 1000 chairs are placed orderly, the stunning risers (or really, pedestals!) for the graduates erected, and then everything is timed to the second. There is the requisite pomp and circumstance, of course, and my favorite part is the processional that leads us onto Commencement Lawn. The entire school, faculty and all the hundreds of students, form a gauntlet and process before the entire school. First the graduates process, and then the faculty, then we march in front of all the underclassmen and His Majesty. The parents don’t see this part—they may hear the bagpipers, but we do this for us, the members of the school. All the faculty and all the students process and applaud for the members of this community. His Majesty saw the possible in the founding of this school, and the realization of his vision is this procession. It is one of my favorite moments of the entire year.


One of my favorite little moments happened during the procession. I march with Dragana, my dear Croatian math colleague (who spoke beautifully at the Senior Dinner) and as we passed through the gauntlet of the senior class, we looked wistfully at them as we begin the formality of bidding them adieu out into the world. I passed Hussein, formally known now as the Crown Prince Regent Hussein II, and there was a moment of marvelous and warm eye contact. It was exactly the kind of eye contact I had all the time from him last year in AP Art History, a course in which he triumphed spectacularly. It was just a fleeting moment, but it was a smile and a look that spoke volumes.

During graduation, Jude, one of my seniors in AP Art History this year, had been voted to deliver the student address in English. Jude loves public speaking and strode to the podium in the de rigeur high heels and offered a traditional and moving speech. Jude was one of my superstars this year, and while she opined about the endless essays in Art History I also knew of the transformation she made this year as a scholar. She attempted and realized the possible in this course. I would entrust her to do anything!

Later in the graduation, Omar, one of my five advisees, was named the valedictorian of the class. Faculty always get a little nervous about this selection—will it be someone that inspires pride in the profession??? Yes, Omar, fought the good fight for excellence and rigor in his four years. He is a gem. Then a few moments later two students were named for the “King Abdullah II Prize,” our all-around prize—essentially, the prize for whom the adults at the school would like to be when they grow up. Noor-Eddin and Dima Saad had been selected. Both superior historians!!! There go the tear ducts again. It is hard to believe that anything is beyond the reach of these outstanding young adults.

Beginning to end, the graduation is ceremony is one hour long. And there really is no rushing, but each of the 100 graduates has their moment in the sun (literally, of course, it is always sunny in Jordan). Julianne waits with each one alone before ascending the stage to receive the KA diploma from His Majesty. I love to watch that moment as she talks with them, calming their fears and thanking them for their contributions to the school. That is another of my favorite things to watch in the graduation. Not a surprise, but when Hussein walked across the stage, the proud papa embraced him.

The night before Graduation we celebrate the graduates with a formal dinner outside under the stars with the parents and graduates. About 30 awards are presented and the choir sang. This past year I led this fledgling group of a dozen singers (oh, my, perhaps I will do a blog entry on the year with the choir!). I picked a piece last fall for this occasion for two reasons. The words are perfect for graduation and it also has a flute accompaniment and this year we had a new Chinese student named Li who is dynamite on the flute. Nadine Zaza, another memorable senior, introduced the piece to the audience saying:
     “Take these wings” is a piece composed by Steve Kupferschmid and Don Besig. It is an optimistic and beautiful choral song and the lyrics seem to have worked perfectly with our graduating class. You will hear the story of a bird that was taught many things, taught to fly, to see, to sing, and to set its heart free. And you will find when listening to the lyrics that we as seniors are heading off to do greater things and each one of us is like that bird lying on the ground and was shown better things by our teachers, family and friends during our time here. Mr. John never failed to remind us how significant this song was in our lives, and I hope you find it as beautiful and meaningful as Mr. John and the choir did."


In his address His Majesty spoke as a proud father and urged the graduates to mine their potential and seek imaginative solutions to the world’s problems. Have I heard that exhortation before? Yes, but, no, it never gets boring to hear it again. Graduations allow us to reframe the world and ponder the possible once again.

Not even two days after the graduation last week I learned of the death of the mother of one of last year’s graduates. I taught this student in the first year of the school (and also her senior year) and got to know the parents well. The juxtaposition of commencement and Farah Hamati’s mother’s death struck me—I guess speechless, actually—as I thought about this kind woman and the ending of her long suffering from cancer. A story of the mother from the first year of KA sprang to my mind. Farah’s advisor decided to take the advisory group out for a fancy dinner. Farah’s mother called the advisor and offered to cook a fancy meal in their home instead and the advisory group could donate the money they would have spent to charity. I wasn’t the advisor, but I got invited over as well! The evening was a memorable celebration of Jordanian hospitality and the excitement over this new school—the possibilities embedded in each day of this new school. Over the years they were always the first family I looked for at school events. You couldn’t ask for a kinder, sweeter, more gracious lady. The second year, when my father came to visit Jordan, I asked the Hamatis to meet my dad. Dr. Hamati took off work two days to show my father around Jordan. That’s the kind of family I met here. That is the kind of warmth I have known from the Hamatis. My heart breaks for their grief this week.


But commencements and deaths…they happen all the time. I am not inured to either end of the emotional spectrum. Jordan has enriched me with both kind of celebrations.


And so it goes…

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