Saturday, June 8th, 2002, I graduated. In the morning, I went to the theater at 8,
cleaned and rosined the stage, set down masking-tape lines, and then spent hours
watching and coaching children at least ten years younger than myself. After that, I
got dressed, practiced, practiced more, and finally went home. I slept, then came
back in the evening and did it again. I fell on my rear end. I got up, continued,
and in the end, I received my diploma.

On Monday, I slept in. Tuesday morning I came to school for graduation practice. I
walked around and around and was bored to tears. Wednesday we did it again. Tonight,
Thursday the 13th, we graduated, and it was boring.

What?

June 8th marked my last dance recital with my longtime studio, Esprit de la Danse.
It was also my first year with a solo performance, something reserved for the best
dancers at the studio. I'm not being egotistical about this; out of a studio of
three hundred, only around six people have solos a year. I've been dancing at Esprit
since the fall of 1992, and this was a heartwarming--and heartbreaking--experience.
I had a head cold, unfortunately. This screwed up my balance enough that while I did
a good job, I probably wasn't as good as I ever was, though I worked through it and
gave it my all. Then it got to time for my tap solo, and I fell down.

Several people in the audience later told me that they didn't realize I hadn't
fallen on purpose. I haven't seen a video yet, but I find this highly unlikely,
though not impossible. It threw me, but I got up and finished it, finished the
dance, gave it my all, and came back for finale with a grin. I learned that I passed
the toe test, the zillion-word vocab test of French dance terminology required for
all dancers wishing to dance en pointe at the studio. I knew that I wasn't going to
return anyway, but I wanted to know if my teacher thought me worthy of taking the
final step and dancing en pointe. I made it. I was a soloist and I made it to the
top. I was the best tap dancer on that stage, dangit, and I got the cheers and the
recognition and the certificates of achievement and perfect attendance and my
flowers. And afterward, I had a party peeling tape off the stage, and went to
Denny's with a couple other dancers, and we ate unhealthy food and reminisced and it
was great.

School had ended on Friday. Saturday was my graduation. And Thursday?

Henry V has a speech in it, spoken by King Henry, about ceremony. I'd like to quote
it:

And what have kings, that privates have not too,
Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idle ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
What are thy rents? what are thy comings in?
O ceremony, show me but thy worth!
...
I am a king that find thee, and I know
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,
The farced title running 'fore the king,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world,
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony...

I have not been made a graduate because I sat through some speeches, walked around
on bleachers, wore a robe and moved around a tassel. I am not a graduate because I
sweated through music and mischief and got my name on a piece of paper. I am a
graduate because I worked for it, because I made it through Four years of high
school, because I passed my classes with skull sweat and a loud mouth. I am a
graduate because I learned. The traipsing around in stupid uniform meant nothing to
me. I had my graduation on Saturday, and I worked for it. This was for the birds.