A Message To All Graduates: I Hate Graduation By Mike Mennard

Allow me to rain on your picnic.  I hate graduation.  I hate it less than death, but more than taxes--and I really, really hate taxes.
I fully understand the almost Christmas Eve-like giddiness graduates feel right now.  Most have been attending school for more than sixteen years, and just the thought of exploring new careers is enticing.  The prospect of getting paid for one's work rather than paying for one's work has its charm, as well. Even better, the thought of a Sunday without homework has got to be one of the most blissful feelings ever.
However, I ask you for a moment to see graduation from the perspective of your teachers.
It's nice of Union College to provide the faculty with the best seating in the house for Commencement.  sitting on the stage allows us to view the graduates' faces, the speaker's backside and the large clock in the back.  It also forces us to stay awake, no matter how long the list of graduates is.
But such ideal seating also provides a Grand Canyon view of something I dread--good friends moving away.
Don't read into this that I am unhappy for your achievement.  Your triumph is mine, as well, along with all of my colleagues.  And don't think I begrudge the celebration, the applause, the cheers, and the occasional dog-whistles.  I applaud you with all of my heart, though I'm not good at dog-whistling.
But here's the rub.
Union College is not like other schools.  We're a small school, and I know most of my students by name.  I've had nearly all the humanities graduates in my home.  I've had many in my office to share coffee and good chats.  I guess what I'm saying is this:  Somewhere between freshman orientation and Pomp and Circumstances, many of you stopped being my "students" and started being my "friends."
And thus my gripe!  After Commencement, there'll be handshakes and hugs, even a few tears.  And then, you will go away.  And why not? Your life goes on, as does mine.  I know that I will slowly become what most of my former teachers became--a cheery memory that grows a wee bit fainter every year.  Even when we bump into each other in the near or distant future, it will be different.  And that's life.
But allow me to say, while you are still here and while I and my colleagues still loom large in your lives, that I could not be more proud to have been a minor character in a little chapter of your epic tome.  The journey's the thing, and I'm glad to have met you on yours.  I hope you learned something good from me.  I know I learned good things from you.  Just don't ask me to be happy about it right now.

Mike Mennard.