I do not remember who the prom king and queen were- I went to four proms over three years and I don't remember any of them. I remember at best a third of the people in my graduating class, and most of them are by name only. Aside form the two or three random kids who have stumbled in to the bar that I have worked at for the past seven years, I probably couldn't pick anyone out of a lineup. I do not remember most of my teachers from my senior year and I couldn't tell you most of the classes I took. High school did not make an impression on me. I honestly don't know how it could have made an impression on anyone. It is a shitty four years filled with mostly useless academia, undesirable social interaction and an excess of human failure.
So when I returned to the place that had supposedly prepared me for this magical future I am currently enjoying to watch my sister Bethany experience her own day of forgettable nonsense last month I was not exactly expecting a fantastic swoon of nostalgia and inspiration. A few things did jump out at me, though. First, despite what I said earlier I was a little bit surprised, and a little bit concerned, at how little I did remember.
It did immediately occur to me looking at the athletic banners in the gymnasium that there was only one three year span since the 70's that the school did not receive some sort of achievement or award in basketball- division title, conference title, city championship and so on- and that happened to be the exact three year span that I played on the team. Coincidence, I'm sure. Or poor coaching. Yeah, I'll go with poor coaching. Never tapped in to my talent. I was a rebound machine.
Not sure the last time any of you have been to a high school graduation, so let me fill you in on how something like that goes these days.
First, everyone files past an unnecessarily intense ticket taker, probably a teacher or administrator or an over-involved parent that seems really dead set that no one is going to sneak in without the proper documentation. This isn't a Mumford and Son's concert, dude. Relax. No one is trying to bypass the ticket system. No one voluntarily sneaks in to a high school graduation. Except pedophiles, but pedophiles are usually pretty noticeable in places like that. Calm down, champ.
In the case of mine and my sister's school, the graduation is inexplicably held indoors. Therefore, the next step is to scale a set of 50 year old bleachers in a 600 degree gym either stuck behind some old person who can't get a leg up high enough to properly climb the splintered steps or bracing said old person so they don't tumble to a painful, nursing home inducing graduation day tragedy. I was in the latter category and I am happy to say that both of my incredibly old grandparents made it out injury free.
The event begins only after everyone is well settled and already squirming from the uncomfortable seat that is slowly numbing all of our asses. The band plays that song that they have to play at every graduation (poorly) and the students walk in. At this point, after each guest has identified the person they are there to see, the collective mind turns to one singular question: "How many friggin kids ARE there and how long am I going to have to sit here on this ancient wooden hemorrhoid machine they are calling a seat?"
Cue a unified fumble through the program to determine exactly how many speeches we would all have to sit through.
Eventually the whole thing begins with a parade of boilerplate speeches by everyone from the mayor to the principal to various insignificant school committee members. They all say the same thing. "This is a door to new opportunities." "You should all be proud." "Thank your parents." "Think of how all of you have grown" and so on...
It is all a mound of cliche and bullshit that most of the students will completely dismiss and immediately kill from their brains after about the fourth Solo cup at that night's golf course kegger. Unless, of course, you are the valedictorian. In which case, you hang on every word because you are the most self important pile of shit that exists in this time and space. You have spent four years using your family's rich resources to enjoy carefree study sessions. You have spent hours after school kissing teacher's asses, winning poetry contests due to lack of entries, leading the debate team, captaining the women's cross country ski club, leading student council, scooping apple sauce for old people at the nursing home, being a camp councilor, heading prom committee and the healthy snacks coalition that successfully had soda removed from the cafeteria because, let's face it, guys, there is like, a real obesity problem in America, ok?
All of this so you can add a whole page of extracurricular activities to your application to Brown or Bentley or Bryn Mawr so you can get a TOTAL full boat and your rich ass parents won't have to spring for on campus housing. And all this time you still found a half hour now and then to watch the Office. Just enough to toss a joke in to your speech. Good for you, honey. Good for you.
I hope you get knocked up freshman year by some football hero who gave you ecstasy for the first time and then you have to drop out and waitress at Uno's or TGI Fridays for the rest of your 20's wishing and commiserating about what could have been and thinking back to those four years of high school and that WONDERFUL graduation speech you gave as the GREATEST TIME OF YOUR LIFE!!! WE WON FOUR STRAIGHT CROSS COUNTRY SKEET SHOOT CLUB TITLES!!!!!
Even aside from that twat valedictorian it was overwhelmingly apparent that high school kids are just the WORST. I mean, really just the most insufferable group of human beings I have been around since the last time I shopped at Whole Foods. Way worse than I remember. It isn't the jovial immaturity or the know it all teenager attitude. I expected that. It just seems like high school kids have a certain level of unwarranted pretentiousness about them these days. The way they dress, the things they reference, the cockiness. So. Much. Cockiness. I don't remember that. Then again, I don't remember much.
Once all of the speech giving and grandstanding is over the genuinely dreadful high school band plays everyone out (seriously, fire the band teacher, guys. He's no good). Before that happens, though, comes the "inspirational" flipping of the hat, or tassel, or whatever. This is only "inspirational" because the class chooses someone whose resiliency toward achieving a diploma has been a lesson in motivation, dedication and the ability to overcome anything. Succeeding against all odds! Proving everyone wrong!
Or, you could just be a kid who lost a leg in a drunk driving accident.
Seriously, guys, there wasn't one sick kid in the class? No one came from an abusive background and had to use welfare checks to buy MCAS pencils? You went with the kid who underage drank and lost a limb? Last year? I mean, the dude had two and a half years under his belt already. And last time I checked, you don't need a leg to study. Needless to say, I wasn't "inspired."
I feel like I should have been given a speech opportunity at this event. I would have told these kids the truth. Don't go to college. Learn a trade and get a job. College will just set you back $50 grand and guarantee that you will always have at least three annoying people who think they are your friends bugging you for the rest of your life to "hang out again soon." Don't marry the first girl you sleep with, even if she makes you promise before she gives it up. She's probably going to get fat. And don't drink any peppermint schnapps. It isn't worth it.
Finally, stop wearing tank tops. Unless you are playing basketball or walking around your house in a wife beater, there is no reason to wear a tank top. Especially a pastel colored one with a beer logo on the front.
***
As a professional in self loathing, no one speaks more to the art than Micah P. Hinson. Happiness is non existent on this man's face. He is like a more talented, still living Elliot Smith.
