Graduation

This weekend was graduation. I flew to the northeastern post-industrial wasteland where I met my parents who had driven 13 hours. From what I could gather, they got a good introduction to upstate life while they waited for my plane to arrive. There was a rowdy group who greeted their arriving friend with cheers and a big sign that read, "Welcome Home, Meat!" My parents looked a bit shell-shocked when I emerged through the door. I had forgotten how jarring upstate weirdness can be, and I decided that I can finally abandon my survival mechanism and start noticing the bizarre behavior again.

The weekend went well. Despite ominous weather predictions of violent thunderstorms and tornadoes, we managed to enjoy a sunny afternoon in a nearby river town before heading to the wasteland. I gave my parents the driving tour, and I think they're still traumatized. More than once, my mother said, "I'm glad you're not here anymore," or something to that effect. They both declared that they had made three trips to the wasteland: first, last, and only.

The graduation ceremony went off without a hitch. Thanks to the engineering marvel known as bobby-pins, my friend and I managed to affix our too-large slippery hats to our heads. We knew we looked foolish, but no more so than anyone around us. As we preened and fretted in the bathroom, someone noted, "We look like we're in a Harry Potter movie." And she was right.

During the ceremony, my friend and I managed to get our hoods and walk across the stage without falling down - a major accomplishment, if you ask me. My dad managed to stay balanced on his rickety chair to take pictures. He has a history of falling off of things, so this was also a major accomplishment.

After all the PhDs got their hoods, we sat down to listen to the inspiring words from the graduation speaker. You know you're in for a treat when they invite an economist from Cornell to speak. Apparently, he received his bachelor's degree from our lesser state school. He spent the first five minutes of his speech telling us all about his accomplishments (papers, endowed chairs, fellowships, awards, pomposity, pomposity, pomposity...). After that, he launched into an economic comparison of public and private institutions. He spouted a lot of statistics, but one phrase sticks in my head: "the growing endowments of the privates." My friend and I giggled like school girls, or Beavis and Butthead.

In the end, this full professor concluded that from his perspective in the Cornell Ivory Tower, public education was going straight into the toilet. Surprisingly, he didn't offer to leave his cushy job and return to public education. He did offer us three pieces of advice: develop coping skills, don't be stand-offish with undergraduates who may idolize you, and well, I can't remember the third piece of advice, but my friend says it was, "...and get a job at Cornell."

He finally sat down, students received their Masters degrees, and then a grad student offered some words of wisdom. In a strange, choppy speaking style, he encouraged all of us to use our imaginations. If we didn't, he warned we'd just "be whistling Dixie in the dark." Being the good southerner that I am, I leaned to my friend and said, "Ain't nothin' wrong with whistlin' Dixie in the dark." Damn Yankees.

Finally, the ceremony ended and we all gathered for pictures. My advisor, who is a force of nature, managed to hold off the rain and scare small children so we could get exactly the pictures that she wanted. Worn out, my parents and I drove the hour back to our hotel. On the way, we decided to postpone the fancy celebration dinner until I came to visit them at their house.

All in all, it was a good and exhausting weekend. When I returned home, I stopped into Cracker Barrel to get dinner. As I walked in, I read the sign on the door: "Imagine walking out this door with a paycheck." I almost screamed. What a message to receive after graduating with a PhD. As my job search continues, I can only hope that I won't end up walking out the door of Cracker Barrel with a paycheck in my hand.