Letter from Boston

Another Graduation

By MASAKO YAMADA

It's peak season for school commencements. It was only a few weeks ago that I attended the graduation ceremony of my friends in the Boston Univerisity physics department. That ceremony was a grand affair involving famous lecturers, fancy graduation costumes and thousands of visitors clogging area traffic.

Yesterday, June 12, I attended another graduation ceremony. This one was considerably less fancy. It was held at a private high school in New York, my alma mater, Keio Academy of New York. It was my youngest brother's day of glory, and I took the Greyhound from Boston to New York to see Nobu get his diploma.

It was a long trip under terrible traffic conditions, but since he's leaving for Japan this summer to go to college, I felt it was worth it. I had heard that one of his music compositions was going to be performed at the ceremony and I was especially looking forward to hearing it.

I had not visited the campus since I had graduated. I was part of the first graduating class, and what a difference six years makes. There was a new dorm on campus and varsity championship banners displayed in the gymnasium.

Things felt a lot more like an American school. The graduates wore American-style caps and gowns, not the plain old school uniforms that we wore. Most of the graduation speeches, including those by Japanese administrators, were in English. The administrators awarded a lot more graduation honors. I saw my brother go up on stage to retrieve his music award, a prize that did not exist when I was a student there (Japanese are more stingy with praise and prizes than Americans, I think).

Even the graduates seemed a lot freer. During the formal diploma ceremony, each student's name was called. However, many of the students remained on stage even after they received their diplomas. I was confused by this until I realized that groups had planned to remain on stage together so they could say something like, "Thanks everybody!!" These students trod off the stage together after they said their line.

Otherwise, the ceremony was standard-issue. The graduates filed into the auditorium while the ubiquitous graduation song "Pomp and Circumstance" played in the background. The audience clapped politely. Important people gave grand speeches. The valedictorian gave his inspirational talk, which concluded with a punchline that normally would have seemed clever, ("May the force be with us.") but that the Japanese audience didn't seem to understand. No laughter. My brother's composition was cut. I started to daydream.

When the ceremony was finally over, we fled to the courtyard. This is when the fun began. I had the opportunity to speak to some of my former teachers, including my old headmaster. I even ran into some friends who had siblings in the graduating class. I had not seen most of these people since my own graduation, so we had a lot of catching up to do.

We went over to the reception in the cafeteria and caught up on each others' gossip while we munched on appetizers. It was nice to be able to catch up on the news of my classmates who have settled in Japan. I rarely speak Japanese these days, much less do I talk to friends in Japan.

After the reception at the school was over, I went to another reception hosted by the parents of one of the graduates. There was a lot of food and drink, and the graduates gave a small talent show, so I was finally able to listen to my brother's music. I also got to talk to a lot of the members of the parents' association.

I didn't know any of these parents, or even any of the graduates, but I had a great time. I didn't feel pressure to be witty or entertaining. I didn't have to assert myself at all, and yet, I didn't feel left out. I don't know what the people are like in private, but it seemed that everybody contributed to giving this celebration party a welcoming, festive atmosphere.

I felt at home, and I suppose this is not surprising. People may not write romantic poetry about the Japanese suburbanites who live around New York, but these are the folks of my "inaka," my childhood home.

Shukan ST: June 25, 1999

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