Letter from Boston
Another Graduation
By MASAKO YAMADA
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もう一つの卒業式
6月11日号で、ボストン大学の卒業式の様子をレポートしてくれた雅子さん。今回は、末の弟の高校の卒業式に出席しました。かつて雅子さんも通ったニューヨークの日本人学校の卒業式は、彼女がいたころとずいぶん様子が違っていました。それでも、子供時代を過ごした場所の雰囲気は、とても懐かしいものでした…。
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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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