REBOWE NOT GOING TO ULL
December 20, 2017
Anthony Pitre
December 20, 2017
EDITOR’S NOTE:
The following piece is a first-person story written by contributing writer Colin Campo, on what it was like to walk the stage and graduate from Nicholls. Both Colin and John DeSantis are employees of Rushing Media.
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It was a long walk from the Peltier Auditorium to the stadium where we, garbed in cap and gown, sharing in the same ritual of those who came before us, would cross the threshold from students to graduates. For me, the walk was like a scene from the Green Mile, although the empty seat at the end of the walk would be my mother’s in the stands.
My mother, Robin Campo, had always pushed me to obtain a degree, and although I had dropped out of college close to eight years ago, her death at the hands of brain and lung cancer spurred me to finally apply myself and finish this goal.
For the rest of the graduates, it was smiles and complaints about the trek in heels, however, the laughter betrayed any real grievances. This was a milestone for all of us, a new chapter of our lives, and a day not even the chill of the wind would steal away.
Upon entering the stadium, I was pulled from my reflections and recognized “Pomp and Circumstances” being played by the band. Our two lines split to parade in front of the home and visitor’s side, traveling the circumference of the field. Like my fellow students, though with hesitation, I gazed up to see my family. My grandmother, Kay Britton, had said she had something to show me. Although I feared it to be something of the “mother looking down on me” nature, what she in fact had, broke my somber mood. What I found, was a stuffed winged pig in a dress, hanging from a string, which she would not stop swinging around.
Grandmothers of the world; you are a gift to be treasured by all of us.
The ceremony began with the college president, Dr. Bruce T. Murphy, giving his final speech. He would be departing after this year, though he made a point to say that like the old quote, “Old soldiers never die…” Murphy would rather be thought of as fading away. He is a veteran and took a moment to dedicate time to the other veterans in attendance.
Next Dr. Murphy awarded the Honorary Degree, Doctor of Letters, to my dear friend, John DeSantis, whom you may already know. My heart was touched as this jaded veteran writer was filled with an innocent excitement both to the buildup – posting about the event on Facebook – and when the cloth was draped around his neck. Even this hardened reporter couldn’t help but be overcome with joy (trust me, dear reader, you must see a photo of the ear to ear smile).
Next came DeSantis’ speech. In the previous days leading up to the ceremony, he confided in me his nervousness of this moment. He did not disappoint. A favorite author of mine once said, “If you can write, you can speak.” Well, DeSantis’ speech began with almost a bullet point of the trials and tribulations of college life, each confirmed by the crowd laughing in recognition: “but today is not about me, it’s all about you! You! chose study over sleep. You ate ramen noodles, because everything else cost too much. You struggled to stay awake through long lectures, and this speech,” he said, “you did everything required to earn those diplomas being placed in your hands today. You made good choices.”
The student’s receiving their Master’s degrees were called to the stage first, and everyone around me began thumbing through their commencement pamphlet to predict the length of our wait. All our attentions were distracted when one of the women announced was quickly met by a lone voice, “That’s my wife!” shouted from the stands. Other’s followed suite sporadically, but none quite reached the same sentimental response from the masses, that is, until one teenage-sounding male voice towards the end of the ceremony yelled, “That’s my mom!”
Eventually, it was my turn to approach the stage, and I again found my thoughts return to the empty seat in the stands. I looked up to see that my family’s faces matched the void I felt. This void followed us through each holiday this year. As I submitted my card to the announcer, I took a deep breath and, like an actor preparing for the curtain to raise, lifted my eyes from the floor and forcing myself to smile.
There was my friend John, resembling a Hogwart’s Professor in his cap and gown, smiling at me. I proceeded forward, received my diploma, and smiled for the photo. Wouldn’t you know my tassel decided to obstruct the moment? I walked down the stage and a woman motioned me to her. She fixed the tassel, smiling and laughing said, “Didn’t I tie your tie for you too?” (she did, by the way). I posed with my diploma again for what I hope is to be a tassel free photo.
I found my seat, and the rest is how you can imagine a graduation would unfold. When it ended, the stands irrupted onto the field, families overwhelmed with excitement for their children. For my family, I think we have taken a step toward closure. None of us will forget my mother, but no longer will the most recent event of our congregation be a moment of sorrow. Next year my sister should be graduating as well, and that should be even better. I cannot speak for the other’s experience, but, for my family, this allows us to close one book and move forward with our lives. •
