|It's Graduation Day here in my small town in northern Georgia. I can remember mine just like it was yesterday; or, at least 25 years ago. We graduated on a Sunday and I remember that we were excited about our futures and the endless possibilities. The girls wore white gowns and the boys wore green. Those that were in the National Honor Society accentuated their gowns with gold braided cords that symbolized their excellence over the previous four years. Green, gold and white, those were our school colors.
I think the moment that stands out the most at my graduation is when my principal, Mr. Rosselot, pronounced my middle name wrong. It is Mia, like Maya Angelou, not Mia, like Mia Farrow. Sister was quick to voice the correct pronunciation to the whole school so they would never doubt how to say it again.
I don't think I realized that I wouldn't see most of those folks again. With the 25 year reunion fast approaching I'm excited about who might be there. Where had they been? What things had they done? What were their memories of me, and me of them? Were they happy?
I was also upset at my graduation. Not just because of the sadness I felt about leaving my friends but because of what was going on at home. Throughout my senior year, Mom was under intense pressure at work, with the closing of her factory and being transferred out of state, to Georgia of all places. At the time, we thought Georgia was clear across the country, not the 7-8 hour car ride it turned out to be.
I graduated on Sunday, and Mom left for Georgia the next day. We have always joked that the kids are supposed to grow up and move away, not the other way around.