Secular Sacrament
Jun. 13th, 2007 10:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dedalus_1947The clarion call of Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance signaled the commencement of the ceremony, on the sunny, late afternoon day. The chatter and talk that was at such a high decibel level began to quiet, and heads began turning to the northeastern corner of the Louisville Quad. There, just rounding the corner was the first one. Young and graceful, adorned in immaculate white gloves and debutante gown, the first graduate marched up the sun-drenched walkway. Behind her, an identically clad graduate paused, counted the beats, and then glided into the elegantly sequenced procession. One after another, these young maidens moved forward, and then up the stairs, holding bouquets of orange and yellow flowers, and smiling to friend and family members who clapped and cheered their passing. Only the fathers were silent, as they struggled to restrain the misting of their eyes and the growing lumps in their throats. These beautiful young daughters, radiant in their styled and garlanded hair, strode confidently toward their future, leaving their childhood behind. Catching my first glimpse of Maria Teresa, my niece, as she took her position in the long white line of graduates, I detected something different. She, along with her “sisters”, was no longer a girl. They were now young women.
This is the beginning of the traditional commencement ceremony at Louisville High School, in Woodland Hills, California. This is not the raucous, beach ball tossing, end-of-senior year celebration, you see in most high school graduations. The Louisville graduation is a carefully scripted, thoughtfully choreographed, and meticulously rehearsed pageant of style and decorum.Traditional speeches are given, and the usual addresses made, exhorting the women graduates to fulfill their intellectual potential and to live their Catholic faith. However, these verbal messages are amplified by the visual impact of the ceremony, with its grace, beauty, and motion. On this occasion, it reminded me of the Japanese Tea ceremony. Only, instead of one clean-limbed, graceful maiden performing individually, there were 126 young women moving in ritualistic unison. Stand straight and erect, turn to the left and bend; place bouquets on the chair, and resume standing posture; turn to the right, pause two beats and step; follow your partner at a sequenced interval; wait for the word prompt and sit. It is an impressive sight.
It was this stunning ritual that first attracted me to this single sex, all-girl, Catholic high school, which is still directed by the Sisters of St. Louis. The visual impact, and mythic symbolism of this annual rite of passage, took my breath away, the first time I saw it, in 1992. It was even more powerful when my daughter, Prisa, graduated in 1998. The ceremony generated renewed reflection, when I went to see Maria’s graduation last week. These women will not, and do not, forget this ceremony, or this moment in their lives. They may complain about the uniformity of appearance, despise the endless practice, and roll their eyes at the demand for unison, but they will always remember the sensory uniqueness of this day. It is a day that sets Louisville apart from coeducational and other single-sex institutions. It is their way to make this moment a special “sign”, a secular sacrament, for graduates and their parents. I believe that the stylized ritual becomes a visible transition point for the graduates and their parents: from past to future, from high school to college. The girls walk in as high school graduates, and march out as women prepared to enter college in the fall. However, for the parents, once the parties and celebrations are over, the summer will become their season of discontent, when they face the harsh reality that their baby girls are leaving the nest – they are babies no longer.
The commencement season is upon us. Although these celebrations occur every year, we don’t always participate. Last year, I did not attend any. This year, 6 relatives and friends are graduating: Brigid from Fairfield College in Connecticut, Carlos from California State University in Fullerton, Jonaya from Williams College in Massachusetts, Maria from Louisville High School, Clark from Dos Pasos High School in Santa Barbara, and Doctor Katie from University of California at Irvine Medical School. Maria’s was the only one I was able to catch so far. Of the three types of graduations occurring this year, I believe that high school ceremonies are the most emotional, because they represent such a major transition in the lives of the students and their parents. The high school graduates are leaving home and,seemingly, “abandoning” their parents. Maria is going to Villanova in Philadelphia and Clark to California State University, San Luis Obispo. There will be some tough periods of adjustment for their parents.
High school graduations are such great celebrations, and great memories. I must confess, however, that I don’t recall much of mine, especially the speeches. I do remember my joy and excitement at finishing school, and the exhilarating knowledge that I was going to college. I was heading to the “New Jerusalem” of intellect, adulthood, and independence. My senior year at St. Bernard High School had been fun, but UCLA promised excitement and fulfillment; even though I wasn’t sure what that was going to be at the time. I never suspected the emotional trauma this event had on parents, until I experienced it as a father. Following Tony and Prisa through their college application and selection process was engaging and involving. It became an exciting game waiting for acceptance letters and then watching them analyze and handicap the colleges until they made their final choice. The graduation ceremonies, parties, and gifts were great, and planning for their departure was exciting; Tony to Washington D.C. in 1996, and Prisa to Westchester in 1998. But I was devastated when they left home.
Although I reacted differently to the departure of each child, I went through four general stages of separation: 1) avoidance and denial; 2) coping with their absence; 3) making connections; and 4) regaining normalcy.
The weeks following the graduations of Prisa and Tony were periods of avoidance and denial. I pretended they were ordinary summers and let Kathy handle most of the travel and housing arrangements, but I didn’t want to believe that they were leaving. It wasn’t until the week before Tonito left for Washington D.C., after constant warnings from Kathy about running out of time that I finally acted. I took him for a long car ride, one that was reminiscent of the countless times I had driven him to and from school, to practices, appointments, and performances. In the car, I would question and quiz him about his classes, his acting, and his plans. On most occasions, he was willing to open up and share his thoughts and dilemmas. That day, after miles of meandering, I finally pulled over to a curve and admitted to Tonito that I didn’t know how to say goodbye. I told him that my aloofness and non-involvement during the last weeks was not indifference. I had been struggling to identify my feelings and formulate some fatherly advice to give him. I envied Shakespeare, who was able to provide Laertes such succinct instructions on his departure from home, in Hamlet. I finally just told Tonito the truth: I loved him and I did not want him to go. At the same time, I knew that he was leaving; I knew that George Washington University was a fine school, and I knew that leaving was the right thing to do. I just did not want to accept it. I held on to the crazy idea that if I didn’t verbalize my acceptance, or believe it, then some unexpected development would prevent him from going. Tonito told me he understood. I hugged him a long time, and cried a little, but I pulled myself together and managed to quote one piece of advice from Polonius:
“This above all - to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”
My denial was actually worse with Prisa, because I fooled myself into believing I was prepared for this second separation, after experiencing it with Tonito. I wasn’t. Instead, I pretended that she was not really leaving home at all. I created the delusion that we were simply driving her 30 miles to Loyola Marymount University in Westchester to spend the week, before driving her back home for weekends. This time, however, I did help in the planning and preparations for Prisa’s move into the dorm, and I was better prepared for my Father-Daughter talk. Since Tony’s departure, I had made a concerted effort at never allowing a car trip with Prisa to go wasted; so we had hundreds of opportunities to talk and discuss sports, her volleyball, basketball, and softball games, family members and events, and movies and television shows. It was always easier talking to Prisa, because she loved to volunteer and share information. On this occasion, we also shared a common point of reference. As I drove along the 210 freeway through the Sunland Tujunga wash, I reminded Prisa of the letter I had written her when she was on her senior Kairos retreat. These letters, from parents, relatives, and friends, were part of the self-realization process of this spiritual experience. Mine was one of those chosen to be read aloud. The letter allowed me to concretely express how proud I was of Prisa, what a gift she was to us, and how there was nothing she could ever do to risk or jeopardize our love for her. It was the closest I ever came to describing the unconditional love I felt for her. Although the Kairos letter helped me get to the point faster, it did not prevent my tears from flowing.
The absence of each child created emptiness in the house that we were never able to fill; we were only able to cope. In Tonito’s case, I would logon daily to the Washington Post website to check the news and weather in Washington D.C., write him long and elaborate emails, and sit in his empty bedroom for long periods, trying to soak in his residual presence or essence. So as not to appear too pathetic and forlorn to Kathy and Prisa, I invented excuses to be in his room. I began solving jigsaw puzzles on the floor, and using his student desk as a private workstation. With Prisa, I did not develop such idiosyncratic habits; I just went into a deep depression that lasted two years. It’s most presenting feature was my daily ritual of taking a stereo and a glass of wine out to the backyard, and sitting in isolation, next to the pool, listening to the pining and soulful songs of Andrea Bocelli. I also found myself seeking out, reestablishing contact with, and spending lots of time with old high school friends, and their families. While Tonito had been a strong, physical presence in the house, Prisa was a constant and interactive partner in all family events, activities, and discussions. Her absence left a gaping wound, which could only be salved, when she phoned or visited on weekends, but never healed.
Kathy and I quickly came to the realization that we could not passively wait for our children to determine for themselves when they would call, visit, or reconnect with us at home. Kathy was direct and aggressive in connecting with them at college. She did not waste her time emailing or writing, as I did, she picked up the phone and called on a regular basis. I would then question her to find out what the kids were doing. Tony’s involvement in drama, and Prisa’s in Basketball, also created many opportunities to connect by flying or driving to see their games and performances. In the two years Tony was at GWU, I visited him 3 times, and Kathy twice. Prisa’s proximity allowed us multiple occasions through her four years at LMU to connect, and she was always ready to join us for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.
Over time, the intermittent visits and absences of the kids became routine and normal. We missed them when they were away, and enjoyed them when they returned. Kathy and I learned how to communicate better, and spend time with each other without the buffering, or complementary presence of our children. Our relationship filled the gaps that the children left when they were away. Eventually, we became our own most effective coping strategy.
Although these post-secondary stages were triggered by high school graduations, they were never mentioned in the ceremonies. There were some hints embedded in the speeches, but they were mostly in the form of jokes. Commencement exercises are rituals performed by the graduates, and viewed by their parents. The event itself serves as a crossroad sign for this transition from high school to college or high school to career. Some ceremonies do a better job than others at signaling this point. Tony’s at Notre Dame High School was more conventional than Maria or Prisa’s. It was held on the football field, where the graduates, and some of their zany antics, were separated from their fun loving friends in the bleachers. The Louisville ceremony, on the other hand, is the finest I have ever experienced. The sensory-driven ritual is poignantly reflective, defining, and emotional. It truly functions as a secular sacrament.
This is the beginning of the traditional commencement ceremony at Louisville High School, in Woodland Hills, California. This is not the raucous, beach ball tossing, end-of-senior year celebration, you see in most high school graduations. The Louisville graduation is a carefully scripted, thoughtfully choreographed, and meticulously rehearsed pageant of style and decorum.Traditional speeches are given, and the usual addresses made, exhorting the women graduates to fulfill their intellectual potential and to live their Catholic faith. However, these verbal messages are amplified by the visual impact of the ceremony, with its grace, beauty, and motion. On this occasion, it reminded me of the Japanese Tea ceremony. Only, instead of one clean-limbed, graceful maiden performing individually, there were 126 young women moving in ritualistic unison. Stand straight and erect, turn to the left and bend; place bouquets on the chair, and resume standing posture; turn to the right, pause two beats and step; follow your partner at a sequenced interval; wait for the word prompt and sit. It is an impressive sight.
It was this stunning ritual that first attracted me to this single sex, all-girl, Catholic high school, which is still directed by the Sisters of St. Louis. The visual impact, and mythic symbolism of this annual rite of passage, took my breath away, the first time I saw it, in 1992. It was even more powerful when my daughter, Prisa, graduated in 1998. The ceremony generated renewed reflection, when I went to see Maria’s graduation last week. These women will not, and do not, forget this ceremony, or this moment in their lives. They may complain about the uniformity of appearance, despise the endless practice, and roll their eyes at the demand for unison, but they will always remember the sensory uniqueness of this day. It is a day that sets Louisville apart from coeducational and other single-sex institutions. It is their way to make this moment a special “sign”, a secular sacrament, for graduates and their parents. I believe that the stylized ritual becomes a visible transition point for the graduates and their parents: from past to future, from high school to college. The girls walk in as high school graduates, and march out as women prepared to enter college in the fall. However, for the parents, once the parties and celebrations are over, the summer will become their season of discontent, when they face the harsh reality that their baby girls are leaving the nest – they are babies no longer.
The commencement season is upon us. Although these celebrations occur every year, we don’t always participate. Last year, I did not attend any. This year, 6 relatives and friends are graduating: Brigid from Fairfield College in Connecticut, Carlos from California State University in Fullerton, Jonaya from Williams College in Massachusetts, Maria from Louisville High School, Clark from Dos Pasos High School in Santa Barbara, and Doctor Katie from University of California at Irvine Medical School. Maria’s was the only one I was able to catch so far. Of the three types of graduations occurring this year, I believe that high school ceremonies are the most emotional, because they represent such a major transition in the lives of the students and their parents. The high school graduates are leaving home and,seemingly, “abandoning” their parents. Maria is going to Villanova in Philadelphia and Clark to California State University, San Luis Obispo. There will be some tough periods of adjustment for their parents.
High school graduations are such great celebrations, and great memories. I must confess, however, that I don’t recall much of mine, especially the speeches. I do remember my joy and excitement at finishing school, and the exhilarating knowledge that I was going to college. I was heading to the “New Jerusalem” of intellect, adulthood, and independence. My senior year at St. Bernard High School had been fun, but UCLA promised excitement and fulfillment; even though I wasn’t sure what that was going to be at the time. I never suspected the emotional trauma this event had on parents, until I experienced it as a father. Following Tony and Prisa through their college application and selection process was engaging and involving. It became an exciting game waiting for acceptance letters and then watching them analyze and handicap the colleges until they made their final choice. The graduation ceremonies, parties, and gifts were great, and planning for their departure was exciting; Tony to Washington D.C. in 1996, and Prisa to Westchester in 1998. But I was devastated when they left home.
Although I reacted differently to the departure of each child, I went through four general stages of separation: 1) avoidance and denial; 2) coping with their absence; 3) making connections; and 4) regaining normalcy.
The weeks following the graduations of Prisa and Tony were periods of avoidance and denial. I pretended they were ordinary summers and let Kathy handle most of the travel and housing arrangements, but I didn’t want to believe that they were leaving. It wasn’t until the week before Tonito left for Washington D.C., after constant warnings from Kathy about running out of time that I finally acted. I took him for a long car ride, one that was reminiscent of the countless times I had driven him to and from school, to practices, appointments, and performances. In the car, I would question and quiz him about his classes, his acting, and his plans. On most occasions, he was willing to open up and share his thoughts and dilemmas. That day, after miles of meandering, I finally pulled over to a curve and admitted to Tonito that I didn’t know how to say goodbye. I told him that my aloofness and non-involvement during the last weeks was not indifference. I had been struggling to identify my feelings and formulate some fatherly advice to give him. I envied Shakespeare, who was able to provide Laertes such succinct instructions on his departure from home, in Hamlet. I finally just told Tonito the truth: I loved him and I did not want him to go. At the same time, I knew that he was leaving; I knew that George Washington University was a fine school, and I knew that leaving was the right thing to do. I just did not want to accept it. I held on to the crazy idea that if I didn’t verbalize my acceptance, or believe it, then some unexpected development would prevent him from going. Tonito told me he understood. I hugged him a long time, and cried a little, but I pulled myself together and managed to quote one piece of advice from Polonius:
“This above all - to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”
My denial was actually worse with Prisa, because I fooled myself into believing I was prepared for this second separation, after experiencing it with Tonito. I wasn’t. Instead, I pretended that she was not really leaving home at all. I created the delusion that we were simply driving her 30 miles to Loyola Marymount University in Westchester to spend the week, before driving her back home for weekends. This time, however, I did help in the planning and preparations for Prisa’s move into the dorm, and I was better prepared for my Father-Daughter talk. Since Tony’s departure, I had made a concerted effort at never allowing a car trip with Prisa to go wasted; so we had hundreds of opportunities to talk and discuss sports, her volleyball, basketball, and softball games, family members and events, and movies and television shows. It was always easier talking to Prisa, because she loved to volunteer and share information. On this occasion, we also shared a common point of reference. As I drove along the 210 freeway through the Sunland Tujunga wash, I reminded Prisa of the letter I had written her when she was on her senior Kairos retreat. These letters, from parents, relatives, and friends, were part of the self-realization process of this spiritual experience. Mine was one of those chosen to be read aloud. The letter allowed me to concretely express how proud I was of Prisa, what a gift she was to us, and how there was nothing she could ever do to risk or jeopardize our love for her. It was the closest I ever came to describing the unconditional love I felt for her. Although the Kairos letter helped me get to the point faster, it did not prevent my tears from flowing.
The absence of each child created emptiness in the house that we were never able to fill; we were only able to cope. In Tonito’s case, I would logon daily to the Washington Post website to check the news and weather in Washington D.C., write him long and elaborate emails, and sit in his empty bedroom for long periods, trying to soak in his residual presence or essence. So as not to appear too pathetic and forlorn to Kathy and Prisa, I invented excuses to be in his room. I began solving jigsaw puzzles on the floor, and using his student desk as a private workstation. With Prisa, I did not develop such idiosyncratic habits; I just went into a deep depression that lasted two years. It’s most presenting feature was my daily ritual of taking a stereo and a glass of wine out to the backyard, and sitting in isolation, next to the pool, listening to the pining and soulful songs of Andrea Bocelli. I also found myself seeking out, reestablishing contact with, and spending lots of time with old high school friends, and their families. While Tonito had been a strong, physical presence in the house, Prisa was a constant and interactive partner in all family events, activities, and discussions. Her absence left a gaping wound, which could only be salved, when she phoned or visited on weekends, but never healed.
Kathy and I quickly came to the realization that we could not passively wait for our children to determine for themselves when they would call, visit, or reconnect with us at home. Kathy was direct and aggressive in connecting with them at college. She did not waste her time emailing or writing, as I did, she picked up the phone and called on a regular basis. I would then question her to find out what the kids were doing. Tony’s involvement in drama, and Prisa’s in Basketball, also created many opportunities to connect by flying or driving to see their games and performances. In the two years Tony was at GWU, I visited him 3 times, and Kathy twice. Prisa’s proximity allowed us multiple occasions through her four years at LMU to connect, and she was always ready to join us for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.
Over time, the intermittent visits and absences of the kids became routine and normal. We missed them when they were away, and enjoyed them when they returned. Kathy and I learned how to communicate better, and spend time with each other without the buffering, or complementary presence of our children. Our relationship filled the gaps that the children left when they were away. Eventually, we became our own most effective coping strategy.
Although these post-secondary stages were triggered by high school graduations, they were never mentioned in the ceremonies. There were some hints embedded in the speeches, but they were mostly in the form of jokes. Commencement exercises are rituals performed by the graduates, and viewed by their parents. The event itself serves as a crossroad sign for this transition from high school to college or high school to career. Some ceremonies do a better job than others at signaling this point. Tony’s at Notre Dame High School was more conventional than Maria or Prisa’s. It was held on the football field, where the graduates, and some of their zany antics, were separated from their fun loving friends in the bleachers. The Louisville ceremony, on the other hand, is the finest I have ever experienced. The sensory-driven ritual is poignantly reflective, defining, and emotional. It truly functions as a secular sacrament.
