An Essay

Weird things happen when you go through your computer harddrive. I found an unfinished essay from four years ago I wrote after my sister's high school graduation. My sister graduated from college last weekend.

Graduation Day

The mid-June air reeked of suntan lotion and sweat. Different faces appeared at the podium determined to give the perfect farewell, funny yet serious, light yet profound. Later I read the only memorial advice in a mass email forward.

The crowd of people I faced dressed the same. Was this the result of an advanced consumer culture that practices rigid conformity while preaching rugged individualism? Did this happen all across America or only in those upper middle class enclaves in which the important signifier is “upper?” Not quite snooty, not quite middle class, not quite intellectual (unless intellectual was good), not uneducated (except in grammar). They collectively avoid certain pretensions, but whole-heartedly embrace others. A conversation about books has merit, but an understanding of books suggests intellectual snobbery. Classics and bestsellers find themselves the objects of much adoration. We vocally adore that which is safe to adore.

How can I not have these strange reactions as I face the crowd? These contradictions and ironies and criticisms and conflicts, aren’t these accepted constants of post-modern (yes, I did just use that term) life? Truisms even. My disapproval of those paradoxical elements of the community, of which I am at least a part, might merely reflect my own self-doubts and insecurities. Isn’t that a more likely scenario? When someone hates home, they also mean that they hate themselves, right? But that might be all wrong as well. And hate is such a strong word.

In the Day Trippers, a delightful comedy with Parker Posey, Stanley Tucci, and Liev Schreiber to be found in the Independent Movie section in your nearest non-Blockbuster movie store, Campbell Scott suggests to Pat McNamara that to be a writer is to struggle against the bullshit, the contradictions, the inconsistencies, the unfairness, the community/self-hatred. But one does not need to stop there. Perhaps (and I’m sure this is in graduation speeches across the country, maybe the world (but then likely in different languages, bringing up issues of translation)) to live is to struggle against all that does not seem fair, or right, or good. Bells of my training in ethics are ringing, demanding that I define fairness, right, and good. Bracketing those issues will allow me to return to my point of this paragraph—struggling. Struggling with life, struggling with writing, struggling with value…ultimately it is a struggle within your self. A struggle to be your own narrator, your own story teller. And then you struggle against that.

But today is so damn hot. And as much as you want to tell your own story and create your own narrative about your own life—the temperature surpasses 100 degrees. One might choose to leave this element out of their story, because one cannot control the weather, but this kind of heat seeps into skin, your pores, your mind, your heart, and thus, your story. So on the day my sister graduated from high school, it was over 100 degrees. Four years ago, when I was in her place, it was not nearly as hot. And four years ago I cannot remember what I felt about graduating from high school. I cannot remember if I was happy to move on to something better, ready to carve out more of my own path, or if I was scared shitless of not having the backbone of my community and family supporting me through my endeavors. I did not have an older brother that I could observe. I did not see that he went through a few changes, not too many significant ones, mostly just grew older and better. But I have a suspicion that four years ago my feelings were eerily similar to my feelings a month ago today—on the day I graduated from college. On that day I felt hungry and I felt thirsty. I felt envious of the Magna-cum-laudes, who received standing ovations from the professors. I did not feel regret about the parties in my room that kept some of those Magna-cum-laudes awake on various week nights throughout the semester. I was concerned with whether I would see all the people that I wanted to see at the after-ceremony in the courtyard. I felt tired of the blah-blah-blah speeches. (Even though I was told that they were good in comparison to other years).

But on that day the crowd I faced dressed similar, but not the same. Was this the result of conflicting signals from an advanced consumer culture that practices rigid conformity while preaching rugged individualism? These were the friends and family (no more than five a piece) of the graduates. One might expect a diverse (as reflected by different graduation outfits—please note that this superficial judgment of diversity is a product of my upbringing and obsession with material things) parental crowd if the extent of their knowledge was admission brochure statements of diversity at this college. On the contrary, these families were dressed alarmingly similar. They too dressed as if they came from upper middle class enclaves where children attend decent private schools or land tax supported public schools. These are the communities that mold a child’s brain to the style of intelligence liberal arts schools deem necessary for admission (and associate with success as well). Further, who else can afford $30,000 a year for four years, per child? Sure, we have the token black folks and we certainly have a large Asian segment, but these racial quotas disguise a more relevant measurement of divergent backgrounds—that of economic segregation. I’m sure the schools know all this and would perhaps take offensive at the pompous immaturity of one of its recent spoiled graduates to remark about their “lack of diversity.” Especially when Pomona prides itself upon its progressiveness in this regard. However, I want to address this issue. My observations are critical of Pomona in as much as they are criticisms of successful institutions in general. Money walks and bullshit talks. College costs money. Especially small liberal arts colleges, and thus you need parents who will pay for their children’s education rather than parents that cannot afford to pay for their children’s education.

That's all there was....