Graduation

I went to a small school growing up. Everyone knew your name, your siblings’ names, your parents’ names, and sometimes even your grandparents’ names. It was great most of the time. The only problem was that memories were long; nothing was ever forgotten, and you could never live anything down.

Case in point: my 8th grade graduation. I wore high heels for the first time for the event, and instead of listening to my mother when she told me to practice walking in them, I, like most thirteen year olds, thought I knew better than her. So, off I go to my 8th grade graduation in my made-by-my-mother’s-hand, royal blue dress, complete with poofy skirt. And don’t forget the silver high heeled sandals. The heels on those were at least two inches and spiked. Not a good shoe for a beginner.

At first, everything’s fine. I’m a little wobbly, but I manage to walk into the gymnasium just fine with everyone else and take my seat. That’s when the trouble starts. My name gets called for my first award (I was an A student; I could expect to be called up there multiple times before the actual 8th grade “diploma”). I make it up the four steps just fine, walk across the stage, take my award, and then head towards the stairs on the other side of the stage. Nick, a 7th grader, is there to help the ladies down the stairs as needed. I take hold of his arm and take my first step down.

At this point, I’m not sure exactly what happened because the next thing I know, I’m lying face down on the gymnasium floor. The audience is quiet; you could hear the proverbial pin drop. I don’t even remember if anyone helped me up or if I scooped myself up off the floor, but I mustered up what dignity I had left and marched back over to my assigned seat with my classmates, face burning.

I hear whispering coming down the line towards me, then Dusti whispers to me that Mrs. Davies says I have something dragging from the back of my dress. I look down, and sure enough, there is the netting that kept my dress poofy, all tattered and torn from the heels of my cursed shoes when I fell. I do the only thing I can at that point. I reach down and rip it all out and drop it on the floor.

Somehow, I manage to make it up the stairs, across the stage, and down stairs, without falling, at least two more times during the ceremony. And I think to myself, at the time, at least I’ll have a whole summer without seeing these people; maybe they’ll forget.

Flash forward to the week leading up to my high school graduation. Well, actually, go back to just high school in general. I was known to be klutzy throughout high school. I fell multiple times due to weak ankles and stretched ligaments. I even had to go to physical therapy to try and fix that; it didn’t work. So, the week before high school graduation, people start asking me if I was going to fall again. Like, really? Yes! I plan to fall at graduation again in front of hundreds of people and make a complete fool of myself… again!

The night of graduation, I’m smarter. I don’t wear heels. In fact, I haven’t worn heels since my 8th grade graduation. That cured me of wanting to wear heels. But, there I am in my sensible flats at graduation, and I see Nick, now a junior, at the exit stairs of the stage. I also see a few of my teachers who are also senior moms lecturing him and telling him to make sure that I (seriously, it was specifically me) don’t fall again. They were acting like it was his fault the first time. No, it was me being an idiot for wearing those stupid shoes.

Anyways, I'm Salutatorian this time around, so I will be on the stage multiple times again. I'm called on to give my speech, but the three top students started off on the stage, so that parts cleared. I give my speech, then exit stage left where Nick is waiting. He doesn’t passively let me take his arm like last time. No, this time, his grip is like steel, and he is not going to let me fall again. I can almost hear everyone in the audience (at least those who were there last time) collectively hold their breath. I start down the stairs. One step, two steps, three steps, and there! I made it. I know it was in my head, but I could almost swear there was cheering as my feet safely touched the floor.

The rest of the graduation proceeded much the same. I never tripped or stumbled once. No, instead I lost my voice before I gave my speech, but that’s another story.

It’s been twenty-one years since I graduated, but I bet if I saw anyone that attended my school from 8th grade on, the first thing they would ask would be if I remembered tripping at the 8th grade graduation.