"There is no social distancing going on here," I said in my wife's ear as we entered the high school football stadium. Nearly every inch of bench space in the stands on both sides of the field was occupied by those who had come to witness their loved one endure the time honored robed ritual signifying their completion of high school graduation requirements.

The high school had permitted up to five guest tickets per graduate. They also webcast the proceedings for those who wished to view the ceremony remotely. The completely filled grandstands caused me to believe that the administration had overestimated how many people could reasonably be seated. Some wore face masks; most didn't. With the unsettled spring weather, I was grateful that we wore light jackets and gloves.

Well over an hour after the gowned and capped graduating seniors had filed onto the field and taken their seats, the talking from the stage was still ongoing, as if anyone would remember the next day what had been said. (Cue the Charlie Brown teacher voice.) It took a while perusing the sea of square headdresses to determine which one adorned our fair offspring. (Why do we wear such weird headgear to an event that is supposed to dignify the value of the pursuit of knowledge?)

Our daughter looked up at us from her seat and gave us the ASL sign for "tired." This was more than typical teen boredom. Late last year we discovered that our daughter has a somewhat rare blood clotting disorder that may be a contributing factor to the unusual fatigue she has experienced throughout her high school years. We are working with professionals to understand and address her health problems.

Eventually the program moved on to the orderly procession of each graduate filing up to the front and walking across to accept their diploma, each announced by a faculty member with a great speaking voice. Often as a name was called, spontaneous cheers erupted from small groups of people around the stadium. I was gratified that, as requested, revelers refrained from air horns and other noise makers. The process of moving all 645 graduates through that routine took about as long as the talking had.

I experienced an odd mixture of feelings as I watched my favorite daughter (also our only daughter) accept her diploma and move back to her chair on the football field. For my wife and me, this represented a new chapter. Our fifth and youngest child has completed compulsory education and we move on to the next phase of life, which arguably is much closer to the state of the loved ones whose graves we will visit this Memorial Day weekend than when we started this chapter. And that's OK. It's how life works.

Graduation means a new chapter for our daughter too. High school has in many ways been a tough slog for her. Besides the continual oppressive fatigue she has experienced, on/off remote learning during the pandemic took its toll socially and academically.

I take my hat off to teachers and administrators who have struggled to make all of this work during the pandemic. Many of our daughter's teachers have gone out of their way to help their students succeed in this extraordinary environment. Unfortunately, there have been a couple of teachers who have been determined to force our daughter to succeed in spite of them, even with a 504 plan. It's people like that who cause students to hate school.

Educators like this are typically not bad people. They are often academics who simply do not understand those who are not academically inclined or who face less obvious challenges. From this perspective, nearly all academic deficiencies can look primarily like motivation issues.

We frequently encountered this same phenomenon with educators who treated our autistic son's limitations as something that could be overcome with more focus and harder work. After all, our son was bright, articulate, and polite. He was never a problem in class. Why shouldn't he simply be able to keep up with the normal workload? Many educators who don't understand those who inconveniently find the traditional schooling model an ill fit for their needs impose lifelong traumas on these students, often with the best of intentions.

We are very grateful for the teachers in our high school's theater department. Theater has been a bright spot throughout our daughter's high school years, even when it has required hard work. Although our daughter loves singing, and even even spearheaded a monumental effort to help hundreds honor her retiring choir teacher last year (see 5/18/2020 post), she found her new choir teacher's approach so chafing that she ended up dropping choir partway through her senior year. That was sad.

Yes, the high school years have in many ways been tough for our daughter. So, seeing that diploma handed to her brought a strong sense of relief and gratitude. It's over.

Now, onward!

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