Commencement

My son has become something he never would have managed to be had we stayed in England: a high-school graduate. Like his mother.

In England there is no such status; exams are passed, or not, and kids celebrate, or sulk. In Canada, as in the US, high-school graduation-- also called, oddly, commencement-- is a near-universal rite of passage, accompanied by much pomp and circumstance. I remember my own graduation ceremony, held outdoors on the school's shadeless football field at summer solstice, in Southern California. We wore tank tops and shorts beneath our polyester gowns and sat, sweating and thirsty, while 1095 (why do I remember that number?) students took turns marching to the stage. El Camino Real High School, where I attended grades 10 through 12, had  3500 kids. No one thought this either unusually large or in any way undesirable. My sons' high school, Ursula Franklin Academy, grades 9 to 12 has about 500 kids. It's the largest institution our kids have ever attended.

UFA's ceremony took place in a large, nicely temperate auditorium, with plenty of room for families and friends of the 125 graduating students. The girls wore summery dresses under their gowns, and the boys, for the most part, shirts and ties (and trousers). I admit to shedding the odd tear, but truly husband and I enjoyed the whole thing tremendously: the playing of Pomp and Circumstance (of course), the flock of black robes and sea of mortarboards, the good-hearted speeches (Dr. Ursula Franklin sent a personal message), the suspense of the awards (there were many; son received enough to make us beam, in particular 'The Socratic Thinker Award', which I have renamed his 'License to Argue' medal). We were treated to an excellent musical interlude on the cello by son's super-talented friend, and then a magic show by another boy in which the trick worked (almost) perfectly. There was the time-honored Tassel Ceremony, in which the tassels on the mortarboards are flicked in unison from the left side to the right, signifying the graduates' new status. There was posing for photos with endless configurations of friends and relatives and strangers (again, ma'am, very sorry, I deleted it, honest).

Afterward we went to Fran's Diner, our family's first-ever restaurant in Toronto, situated next to the hotel where we stayed seven years ago. The university had flown us from Brighton to visit this flat and landlocked city in the northern country that might become our home. Lucky for them, the gamble paid off, and a year later we made the move. There were of course other factors influencing our decision, but Fran's played its part. In addition to its great burgers, it stays open 24 hours-- unlike anywhere in Brighton. And even with only 125 kids, graduation lasted well late. Dining out at midnight in Hove? I think not.

So, the boy's school days are done, and the next stage begins. Our young man has decided to head west, to the University of British Columbia, where he will be one of forty-two thousand other students. A big pond. A few years from now, that is a graduation that may take some time. I wonder if there's a Fran's in Vancouver.