Graduation, Redux

I went to graduation yesterday.

Not mine, though many of the graduating class asked me if I was there for that reason, with a confused glance. When I was there last year it all seemed a little surreal. A little official. A little magical. Now it seems a little transparent. A little rigorous. A little tiny bit forced.

But it works, and it is a good system. The speaker this year was far better than the speaker for my class. The students beamed and nobody tripped. And my Dean even helped a guy in a wheelchair make the ramp, which was pretty awesome of him.

I got to see PFK, my 'brother', if ever I have one, recieve two awards and a diploma this year. An amazing guy treated to an almost ridiculous level of recognition by the ceremonies held. I'm glad I was there. He only flew back for all of this, so in three days he'll be back at Oxford. But the trip allowed him to see family, both real and (like me) imagined. So I hope it was good for him.

I'm going to be gone for over a year if I can help it. So I won't get to see graduation next year. Which is dissapointing. I won't get to see my roommates walk. QW and Blue will both cross the stage without my supervision, and I find myself almost sad about that. They're both my boys, and I'll miss seeing them walk.

I'm torn about the year following, and not sure if I'll try to return to Macon to watch. There are reasons. Kid. Zig. Mac. A few others. But what would be my reason? Why would I go. Not for them? Would it be for me? For something I claim to believe in? I can't really put my finger on it.