We Go Together
A teacher’s note, a graduation walk, and the art of not knowing what comes next
Tonight, I sit beside my cat, Bridget, my mom on the phone, “Modern Family” playing in the background. My students are right: I do sound like Cam. I think because I provide the snacks, the bandaids, and the laughs. Teacher Appreciation Week (all educators included) just passed by, and as I entered my classroom, my door was filled with notes. I scanned the beautiful notes and landed on, "You’re funny when you curse.” I’m dead. I can’t stop laughing at this moment. My inner Cam clutches my metaphorical pearls. I laugh tonight, preparing to return to the classroom for my final three and a half weeks. I'm not quite sure what happens next, and for the first time in months, I feel okay with this. At my commencement ceremony this weekend, the Dean of the College of Arts and Humanities quoted the proverb, “If you want to go fast, go alone; if you want to go far, go together.” I stayed with her words while flashbulbs went off in the background, the sign-language interpreter signed on camera out of the corner of my eye.
The sound of gowns rustling in the stadium as 87 graduate students in the College of Arts and Humanities, several of us from the MFA program, anticipated our moment. Despite practicing in my hotel room, I can say my mouth was dry and I wasn’t sure how to navigate the handshake, accept the diploma, and balance with my cane–all while smiling. My row was asked to stand, with name cards and pronunciation in hand. I clutch the ramp we all tread upon and hand my card to someone who hands it off to the reader of names. I watch the man before me walk to Dr. Porter, the University President. I breathe as I hear “Jonathan,” and begin to walk, “Michael Saucedo.” I chuckle as we both anticipate which hand I will extend. If I don’t yet know, he sure doesn’t. I know I laughed and think my tongue escaped my lips as I laughed in joy. I accepted my recognition. My passport to something new, and I shook several more hands before I realized I was back in my seat, listening to people in the stands cheer for their families. For a moment, I am irritated at the noise, not wanting to miss anyone’s name, even those I don’t know, because someone thinks the ceremony is all about them.
We go together.
I breathe and realize we are all experiencing joy together. Unlike my undergraduate commencement in 2003, where I didn’t know where I was going or who I would see again, I realize I made it through the past 22 years despite all the darkness. I still don’t know where I’m going, but I know it will be okay because it has to be OK. I’ve gone fast into dark times and come out further than I could have imagined, together. I didn’t battle depression in illness alone. I didn’t learn how to walk again alone. I didn’t learn how to refine my writing alone. I went with family, friends, therapists, teachers, and doctors into seasons together. And now, I begin again. After all, commencement means “a beginning.”
Thanks for reading.
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