Why I Never Had a Graduation Ceremony

The answer may surprise you…and I still received my actual high school and college degrees

Elsewhere on the Internet, I’ve written at length about how stressful it was for me to grow up as a kid widely considered to be “different” from everybody else. I’d constantly be reminded, verbally and observationally, about what a weirdo or a freak or a nerd I was.

It felt debilitating.

I’d imagine that most of you who are reading this were very excited for your high school or college graduation ceremonies. If not excited, you were probably indifferent or underwhelmed toward it.

But not me.

From my perspective, the thought of attending my high school graduation ceremony was downright terrifying.

Stuck in My Own Head

At a very young age, I became aware of the pomp and circumstance surrounding people receiving their high school diplomas. I knew that, for those who chose to attend college, a similar ceremony awaited them.

I regarded the entire tradition as odd and cringeworthy.

For this reason, even back in grade school, I daydreamed about how I could get out of it. I’d envision myself skipping out on my graduation ceremony — basically taking off in my car on the morning of my graduation day, leaving behind a note for my family reassuring them how I’d be okay. But I just couldn’t emotionally deal with this awkward ritual.

Heh…little did I realize, at that point in time, that I’d never even learn how to drive.

I’m fully aware of how bizarre this will sound to many of you, dear readers. It’s difficult for me to put into words the exact “Why” of my feelings and emotions developing in this manner.

All I can do is point you to my Autism Spectrum Diagnosis along with the reality that it has hindered my ability to be considered a “functional” member of society in the eyes of many observers.

Maybe I just found the cap-and-gown to be goofy. Perhaps I was intimidated by the nature of such real-time attention. Or it was just because I hated school so much that I viewed it as a waste to be “celebrating” involuntarily in the presence of so many classmates and teachers who I despised.

“The Day of Doom” Inches Closer

I was technically in the Class of 2000.

In high school, I played in Band for the first two-and-a-half years. Because we would always serenade the high school seniors with our instrumental music on their Graduation Days, I got to see these graduation ceremonies up close and in person.

Granted, I was happy enough for these older classmates of mine. They were commemorating a milestone in their lives, so I concentrated on being there for them in a low-key support role.

But watching their ceremonies only reinforced my earlier aversion.

I found the whole schtick of throwing one’s tasseled hat up in the air to be corny as hell. The ceremonial gowns looked dumb to me. And, as they physically hugged one another at the very end of their rites, I asked myself…

*Why* would I hug someone who has bullied or harassed me for so many years? And, even when it comes to the classmates who I liked — I’d be fine with hugging them, but then wouldn’t it be rather crude for me to so openly snub those of them whom I *don’t* want to hug? Or, what about the ones who don’t want to hug *me*…will I feel ostracized getting snubbed by *them*? Or will I feel triggered under the assumption that some of them are only hugging me because they feel obligated to do it?

I became even more adamant in this mindset after my junior year of high school, during which I was menaced by our new principal, Mr. Taylor. At the time, I was already nervous enough about the prospect of going away to college.

Why should I give Mr. Taylor the satisfaction or the dignity of presenting me with my scroll-like diploma while I’m expected to shake his hand? The narcissistic bastard clearly didn’t care about my unique soul.

So if it was already a monumental feat to persuade me otherwise about attending my graduation ceremony, Mr. Taylor’s presence there simply sealed the deal on my rebellion.

The fact that I finished up my high school credits during the Fall of 1999 (at the beginning of what would have been my senior year) while completing them at our local tech college — and wasn’t even taking any classes whatsoever during the Spring of 2000 — made it all the easier for me to avoid the official ceremony.

By that point, my parents were just relieved that I’d be receiving a high school diploma. Their disappointment about not getting to watch me graduate paled in comparison.

Next Up: College

Needless to say, I felt the exact same way about a potential college graduation ceremony as I did about my hypothetical high school graduation ceremony.

Aversion.

Fortunately for my parents, my sister graduated from high school in the Spring of 2003. In fact, I even attended her ceremony with my parents and my maternal grandmother.

My parents were most likely secretly hoping I’d change my mind. They’d hoped not only that I would decide to attend my college graduation ceremony, but that I’d choose to graduate here in my home state of Wisconsin. Alas, that wasn’t in the cards, either.

During the period of time when I was trying to figure out how the hell I was going to manage to transfer to an out-of-state school, my WPIC job coach, Christine, made an offhanded comment during one of our counseling/advising sessions.

When referring to my hypothetical college graduation date, Christine ended one of her sentences by saying, “…when you walk across that stage.”

Now, Christine was a short-sighted and clueless person — details of which I’ll go into with greater depth in a future article of mine. But I have to admit: I’m sure she had absolutely no way of anticipating why those words would cause me so much stress. And, objectively speaking, there was no rational reason why she (or anyone else) would consider that possibility.

But they still had the effect that they had on me. Triggering, fear-inducing, painful, melancholy sentiments…

The short version is that I eventually moved out to California, where I officially graduated from film school in December of 2008. Given how I was geographically isolated from a majority of my family — more than 2,000 miles away from my hometown — it was, once again, a snap for me to avoid my college graduation ceremony.

The Aftermath

Do I feel at least a little bit of guilt for essentially depriving my parents of watching their only son and oldest child graduate? Twice!

Well…maybe a little. Intellectually, I can understand their disappointment.

However, ultimately, I had to put my own self-care and mental stability first.

There was one “compromise” of sorts. When I came back to visit them during Christmas of 2008 (after officially completing my undergraduate degree), I let my parents throw me a graduation party.

In truth, I mainly did it because we were in the middle of The Great Recession and I needed the extra money. I knew that relatives, neighbors, and other friends-of-the-family would give me cash gifts if I was hosting an event.

Either way, that January 2009 graduation party was fun…I viewed it as an opportunity to channel my inner Perle Mesta.

The $700 that I earned in “gifts” was nice, too.

But I could see the pride in my parents’ eyes as they sat together, watching me converse gregariously about life in Los Angeles while I socialized at a table with two sets of our neighbors, the Lindahls and the Olsons, and our family dentist, Dr. Hegna and his wife.

I felt good that they clearly felt good.

Sometimes, happiness is a matter of reconciling what you can live with that will also simultaneously create goodwill and warm fuzzies for others.

For me, it was that small, intimate Midwest graduation party at the age of 26 — while on a break from my new home on the West Coast.

For you…I encourage you to brainstorm which impending scenarios may bring you unease or emotional strain.

Imagine the possibilities. Is there a middle ground where you and your loved ones — or your “hated ones,” or even your “tolerated ones” — can manage to coexist in harmony?

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