Don't Worry, Be Happy

By TAD BARTIMUS

Nearly everybody in our town goes to high school graduation. It's fun, like a carnival held outdoors under the leafy limbs of spreading trees that grant us welcome shade from the heat.

We take lawn chairs because there's never enough room in the bleachers. Some folks bring blankets where bored toddlers and bottle-hugging infants can nap. It's a happy day, because nearly everybody is related to at least one of the seniors. Their joy is infectious; we hug and kiss our neighbors and friends and get hugged and kissed in return. It's tradition to drape graduates in garlands of flowers, and since it's gardenia season, the air is drunk with sweetness. So are we all, for this is a day when we give in to joy and hope.

My husband and I received 10 invitations from the class of 2002, which has 26 graduates. Because he taught these kids in eighth grade, we know the talents and attitude of each. We chose graduation cards and gifts with care.
It's traditional to wish young people success as they transit from child to adult with the flip of a silk tassel. What kind of success? Financial? Intellectual? Emotional? Ideally, all three. But this is life, not fiction. We know, even as we watch them march to "Pomp and Circumstance," that some will have a tougher time than others. 

We will give cards that urge them to be happy. Whatever they do, wherever they go, we hope they will be happy. Money buys comfort, but is otherwise overrated. Status is ephemeral; one false step and it vanishes. Ambition is a millstone. Dreams disappoint. 

I look at this class and see my own. There is the clown, the screw-up, the nerd, the plodder, the organizer, the princess, the jock, the brain, the nice guy, the nice girl, the snob, the outsider. Any office in America has the same cast of characters. By high school, our personalities are set; only our attitudes can change. 

When I was graduated from high school I knew exactly what I was going to do for the rest of my life: be a journalist, a wife, a mother, win a Pulitzer prize at 40, retire rich at 50. Now 50-something, I am a journalist and a wife. The rest didn't happen. I made U-turns, backtracked, took one step back for every two forward, crisscrossed the globe, reinvented myself. None of it was planned. I am happy. 

I see these children on the cusp of adulthood and am both proud and fearful: proud that they have accomplished so much, fearful of how much more they have to learn before they can be happy.

The hardest charger racks up accolades like a gunslinger notching kills on a gun; will she ever understand that learning is not a checklist of accomplishments, but a state of mind? 

The most privileged feigns disaffection, marking time until he bolts into a larger world where his fortunate background blends in with the masses. Will he ever be grateful for all he has been given?

The sweetest cloaks herself in emotional armor, ready for her divorced parents to make nice after years of acrimonious co-existence. Will their damage to her be mitigated by gentle love?

The young woman and young man whose sexual orientation made them "different" have solid academic escape routes out of town. Will they ever come back?
The hardest worker, who writes powerful poetry and seethes with desire to have it all, salutes her single parent for his sacrifices. Will she ever give herself credit for her success?

The free spirit is already airborne; will she ever land? 
Life's maelstrom tests us all. Like you and me, these graduates will cope one day at a time. Like us, they'll eventually learn that the only thing that matters is happiness. 

© 2002 The Women Syndicate

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© 2002 The Women Syndicate. The content on these pages is the property of The Women Syndicate and may not be used without express written permission. Contact friends@tadbartimus.com