Pomp and Circumstance

It's graduation season, and at a small-town newspaper, that means a plethora of stories and photos featuring caps, gowns, tears and cheers.

Plenty of talk of "reaching for the stars," and "making the future brighter."

And, from the rogues gallery that is the copy desk, plenty of cynicism.

I must admit, as the older folks groused about the future the teens are supposed to make brighter, I offered one of my favorite lines:

Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll still end up in the vacuum of space where no one can hear you scream.

Setting aside the grizzled comments from journalists who've lived at least three and four times as long as this year's graduates, I began thinking about my own high school graduation.

Based on other graduations I've witnessed, mine was atypical.

You get that with an all-boys Catholic high school run by Jesuits in the rich side of town. (I didn't live on the rich side of town; thanks to my mother teaching in a Catholic school, I was able to attend Loyola Blakefield.)

Anyway, our graduation wasn't in the gymnasium or on the football field. It was in the Hollow, a section of the 60-acre campus, nestled between some of the classroom buildings and the Jesuits' residence, that was typically used for Frisbee-throwing and napping in good weather.

We didn't graduate in caps and gowns. We wore white tuxedo jackets. It was like 172 James Bonds processed into the ceremony.

And, if memory serves me, we graduated on a Sunday.

Other than hugs from family and friends — some of whom are no longer with us — I don't really recall too much else about my graduation. And no, it's not because I was under the influence of some elixir or potion normally not allowed an 18-year-old.

I guess what was said at that time really didn't have much impact on me. For that, I apologize to Mike Evans and Chris Co, classmates who I recall speaking.

And so, these thoughts have helped diminish some of my cynicism. You see, I didn't go to high school in a small town. The local paper — The Baltimore Sun — didn't cover it.

I've realized, after sitting through probably about two dozen graduations as a reporter, and reading more than a hundred graduation stories as an editor and copy editor, that graduation coverage is one more public service done by the local newspaper.

Grandma or Aunt Ethel clip out the story and save it for you, to help you recall that time when you were young and innocent and thought maybe, you might just reach those stars.