Kindergarten graduation elicits mixed emotions

Lucy dashes to the kinder-grad gathering spot.

I just returned from the paparazzi festival known as A-town kindergarten graduation. Seriously, the Buffalo News editorialist is right: We take too many pictures, people! It’s as if our main purpose in life has become chronicling it rather than experiencing it.

I’ve always been a bit wet blanket-ish about kinder-grad. I mean, c’mon—it’s kindergarten. I’m glad the kids made it through, most of them having learned the alphabet in its entirety and their numbers 1 through 100, but the ceremony seems superfluous.

The “graduates” process into the auditorium (or get herded in, rather, by their harried teachers, who realllllllly neeeeeed that summer vacation!). The superintendent and the principal offer platitudes about the importance of education, bright future, blah, blah, blah, and the children walk across the platform to receive their “diplomas.”

But! Not before the paparazzi—er, parents—take their places at the designated picture-taking seating section situated just below stage right. Yes, really—it’s built right into the program: “Will one representative from each child in Mrs. So-and-so’s class please come forward to the picture-taking area?” 

I refused to go. A decision made easier by Grandma’s eagerness to join the media frenzy. She even shot video footage, a topic for another day. (I mean who watches home videos…ever? Especially if there are hundreds—nay, thousands of accumulated, unedited hours? Not me. No, thank you. There are too many books and not enough time.)

Still, I was caught off guard by the magnitude of the moment—ridiculousness and all—when the canned bagpipes droned over the loudspeakers, signaling the entrance of 79 6-year-olds into the room (representing half the A-town Class of 2024—the silly ceremony would be repeated later for the other half). Little people embodying the hopes and dreams, failures and foibles of their families. Sappy Sallys like the teary-eyed mom to my right and dubious Debbies like the eye-rolling mom to my left.

Both mothers were me, and I sniffled in spite of my cynical self.