I was reflecting today on my students who will graduate this year. Some of my favorite students will be saying goodbye to college life in December and May and saying hello to the 40 hour a week working world. I am excited for them to be done, because I know they have worked a long time to get there and they are ready to move on.
I am not all that excited though about what that means to me. Aside from saying goodbye to my fledglings, it means that I have to don my academic regalia and attend the graduation ceremonies. Therein lies the painful part. The ceremony part is fine – even though they tend to be long – I don’t at all mind sitting there and taking it all in. The part that I don’t like, the part that makes me cringe, is having to spend a few hours in my robe and funny looking hat neither of which I consider to be all that fashion forward.
The robe instantly transforms me from a size 4 to a size 14. I look like a massive heavy drapery hanger with a little head on top. I look fat, and not the slang version of fat – PHAT (pretty, hot and tempting) – oh no, it’s the “Oh my goodness she ate the kids!” kind of fat. It is not pretty folks. By no stretch of the imagination could you say that me in my academic regalia is flattering. It is a huge puffy robe that I am not allowed to belt or accessorize – it has fashion citation written all over it.
Whenever I call our cat Stinky fat Cheyenne protests and says he isn’t fat, he is fluffy. I have rolled my eyes at that response for years now; but, suddenly I can empathize with Stinky. Suddenly, I appreciate the value in being fluffy.
Let it be known that in my regalia I am neither fat, nor PHAT – I am merely fluffy. I surmise that for the pleasure and honor of watching my fledglings fly the coop I can be fluffy for a handful of hours – just one request, no photographic evidence of my fluffiness.
Day eight hundred and twenty-nine of the new forty – obla di obla da