Graduation

Five and a half years later, I have finally graduated college. I walked on Saturday morning in Logan. It was a wonderful ceremony with good quotes and some inappropriate jokes on the part of the dean (who would have thought?). It was very fun, but the getting there part was a tale for sure.

I was sobbing 3/4 of the way to Logan, 45 minutes late, sure I was going to miss my own graduation. I calmed down, put on some make-up (very dark eyes to cover the signs of crying) and ran into the building when I got there. Everyone- graduates, in alphabetical order, included- were seated, so I scribbled my full name on the back of a "Restrooms, This Way ---->" flyer and snuck into the ceremony and sat at the very back.

I listened to the speeches and walked after everyone from A to Z had already done so. Not a big deal. I walked up there and handed the guy reading my names my crumpled piece of paper. "I was late," I explained.
"That's all right, just glad we could get you through."

He read my name, and my heart got bigger when I heard my small but amazing personal cheering section- my family and grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles and friends- cheer, scream, ring bells, and toot horns for me. We've kind of created a family tradition in which we make the loudest ruckus at graduations and other achievement ceremonies (when the time is appropriate, of course). I'm always thrilled and amazed at the support and love my family gives to each other. They are so happy to cheer on personal and social and professional achievements. They take pride in their loved ones. I love them. If family doesn't give such unconditional support, who will?

"Wow, you've got quite a crowd up there," one of the professors said as she shook my hand.
"I know!" I said, and smiled.