Since you all liked the title of my last post so much, I thought I might try it again - but this time it pertains to Trigger's High School Graduation.
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I admit it.
I'm a snob.
Let me qualify that statement. I'm an educational snob.
Not really my fault though. . . I blame it on my Catholic parents. You see, along with my six brothers and sisters, I never set foot inside of a public school building until the day I had to take my S.A.T.'s. . . .
But you don't need to know all this. . .
What you do need to know is that my little family unit broke out of the mold just last summer on the day when my two youngest daughters decided to move from the private all-girls high school to the town's public high school and my checkbook danced a jig with my credit card.
So let's just say that, heretofore, I had always been exposed to a more formal type of high school graduation ceremony. And if Trigger had decided to stick with my old Alma mater for her senior year, she - like her older sister - would have graduated on the sprawling lawn of The Academy in a long white gown, carrying a bouquet of red roses in her carefully white-gloved hands. There would have been sedate and refined applause from the crowd as each name was called, and the whole event would have been crafted to reflect the elegance and refinement with which The Academy was sending these young women out into the world. . .
But - alas - Trigger did not graduate from The Academy this year.
No, last night, Trigger graduated from The High School.
No, last night, Trigger graduated from The High School.
And - after scouring those pre-commencement instructions again today - I feel confident declaring that nowhere in those mailings did it mention that I needed to bring an air horn with me to Trigger's graduation . . .
For the graduation ceremony was held in the town's arena (you know, the one where I last saw the circus? Yeah, that's the one. . . ) and I was totally unprepared for the . . . well. . . circus-like atmosphere that surrounded the awarding of diplomas.
How was I to know that - after the crowd nearly ran a poor mother and child out of town because the toddler was crying during the valedictorian's address - the air horns, megaphones, and police-siren-thingies would come out in force during the calling of the graduates' names and the whole place would be hootin' and hollerin' like we were all at one big ole Texas Hoe Down right here in good old North Jersey????
And when Trigger's name was called, my husband, Ponzi, and I managed to send off a pitiful little clap . . . looking - and sounding - like the groom's stuffy family in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. . .
Damn!
Why didn't anyone tell me?
If I had made the move to the public education system before this past summer (foregoing the estimated $80,000 in tuition which my husband and I have already spent on Trigger's education) I could have afforded the biggest, baddest, boldest air horn on the East Coast!
