Today my granddaughter graduated from Mater Dei High School in Santa Ana, California. I watched via a streaming video. The auditorium was full of proud parents, grandparents, and friends. My daughter sent me a photo of she and her husband with the new graduate.
This brought to mind a memory of my own high school graduation that has quite a bit of pain associated with it. Of course, after 59 years -- I was in the class of 1966 -- both memories and pain fade considerably.
I'm still bothered by my mother's action though. Which was, choosing to not attend my high school graduation.
She was divorced and never remarried. So it was just her and me living together. My mother was an alcoholic who deteriorated during my junior and senior years in high school.
So there was considerable tension between us. I was having a lot of trouble with her heavy drinking, which caused her to ramble on about uncomfortable subjects from her bedroom while I was trying to get to sleep. Even with a pillow over my head, I could still hear her drunken tirades about me, relatives, and life in general.
The thing that caused her to say "I'm not going" was my reading her a speech I planned to give as my salutatorian address, since I had the second highest GPA in my graduating class.
I wish I'd kept a copy. I can't recall what was in it that irritated my mother so much. All I remember is that she strenuously objected to a mention of my view of current events that didn't fit with her deeply conservative perspective.
I wasn't at all liberal. When I went to college at San Jose State, I put a poster of Barry Goldwater on my bulletin board. My hippie roommate didn't object. Before too long, I had let my hair grow and was using marijuana just as he did.
But in high school, I still mostly adhered to my mother's Republicanism. Not completely, though, or she wouldn't have gotten so upset at my graduation speech.
I'm pretty sure that I was the only member of my class who didn't have a relative attend their graduation. While all my friends had a father, mother, or usually both congratulating them after the diplomas were handed out, I had no one. I drove alone to graduation.
Of course, I survived. My mother and I grew closer after I went to college.
We weren't emotionally all that close, but she was interested in my studies and supported my decision to go to San Jose State rather than Dartmouth -- which my father and grandfather had attended, and it always had been assumed that I'd get a MBA from Dartmouth, then take over the family materials handling business as the oldest male heir. Echoing my mother, I said "I'm not going...to Dartmouth."
Still, seeing the photo of my granddaughter and her parents made me wish that my mother had been at my own high school graduation. But over the years I've learned that wishes are one thing, and reality is a whole other thing.
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