This morning Frank and I got up early to attend the college graduation of Delicia, a family friend. Her mother Leticia is the twins’ Godmother and a close, long-time friend of ours. It was like watching a little sister graduate. I’ve been a mentor of sorts to Delicia since she was in 6th grade. I remember on her first day of middle school, her father Former IF stood outside in the middle of the yard with a pair of binoculars, watching wait for the bus from afar. Delicia was mortified, because the bus stop was just four houses down from where he stood. Today, Former IF watched his daughter through the same binoculars cross the field and receive her diploma. I’m quite proud Delicia; I worked with her through her high school years as her Color Guard/Dance Coach. I wrote letters of recommendations, helped her prepare college admissions and scholarship essays and later, helped her with lessons for her Education methods classes. Now she’s "all growed up" and she’s joined the ranks as a colleague. She’s already been hired to teach Family and Consumer Sciences (Home Ec. to us old folks) at one of the other two middle schools in the county. I’m so proud of her.
As touching as the entire ceremony was, I spent much of it slightly befuddled. Great care had been taken in the preparing the football stadium for the massive graduation of over 2,000 students. Flowers and foilage were placed on and around the stage. A state Senator was the guest speaker. The band played Pomp and Circumstance as the largest graduating class in Georgia Southern’s history marched across the field and into their designated areas, arranged by grad and undergrad, and again by areas of study. The large screen on the scoreboard displayed up close and personal views of the graduates as they received their diplomas.
So with the details so carefully executed that the ceremony seemed effortless, I was somewhat bemused by the fact that no one seemed to have noticed that the clock on the scoreboard was stuck on a ridiculous combination of numbers. It was a graduation; there was no game taking place, so why would anyone have set numbers on it, anyway? It was such a huge oversight, those numbers spelled out with their little digital balls of light, that I almost felt embarrassed on behalf of the university. Why in the world would they have left twenty minutes and eight seconds left on the scoreboard clock?
Let’s not mention this to anyone, ‘kay?