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The short, sleeveless polyester dress was the first garment I had
worn in years that didn't resemble an Indian bedspread. Its filmy
synthetic fabric encased my thighs and fluttered ironically
through the stiff neck of my academic robe. Caps and gowns in the
sixties were still crafted of gabardine as traditional and
weighty as the curriculum. But lime green daisies flowered under
my baccalaureate robes as I approached the podium. "Left hand,
sheepskin," we had been coached. "Right hand, shake. Brief thank
you and continue toward stage right." I know that there must
have been stairs leading down to earth from higher education. But
today, more than thirty years later, I remember only that I
clutched my diploma to my lime-blossomed breast and walked off
into thin air. I still have a snapshot of my friend Ruth and me
taken not long after our names were called, stifling but not
stifled in our black caps and gowns, honor tassels glinting in
the sunlight. Pinned to the back of our gowns were bright red
upraised fists. "We want our rights and we don't care how. We
want a revolution now!" Rationally, I know that I came down from
the stage. But reason has never been my strong suit. Ever since
that sunny spring morning in 1969, I have been waiting to land,
dreading the possibility of becoming a grown-up; dreading the
possibility of remaining a child.
Ironically, today's caps and gowns are made of fabric so
ephemeral that female graduates are warned to be fully dressed
underneath. In just a few weeks, my daughter will complete a new
cycle in our family as she becomes the first of the second
generation to graduate from college. Soft and solid natural
fabrics will gather sedately under her synthetic robes. Though
they may have flirted with bellbottoms as ten year olds, hers is
a generation that has little time for fantasy and flower-power.
The Class of 2001 will conform to the pageantry of Pomp and
Circumstance, strutting off the podium with a corporate swagger.
My daughter worked harder in college than I ever did. In fact,
for the past five years, her college has won the dubious
distinction of being the school where students study for more
hours each day than any other campus. I am proud of her direction
and diligence, but I wonder if anything she learned as a member
of the Class of 2001 compares to the lessons that life taught the
members of the Class of 1969. Today, when I have forgotten how to
measure the distance to the center of the earth from Walden's
Pond or how many drosophila it takes to understand genetic
mutation, I still remember the fundamental philosophies from my
years at Brandeis. I will consider $120,000.00 well spent if my
daughter has learned the following essentials during her
undergraduate years:
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| Written by Marcia Brown Rubinstien April 25, 2001 |  |
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| BOOM! E-Zine - A light e-zine for baby boomers, is a collection of witty articles on topical and nostalgic themes with lively comments. What happens when the generation which could trust no one over thirty turns fifty? Join the thoughts, grounded and otherwise, of Marcia Brown Rubinstien as she observed the 21st century through the lens of the sixties. |
