This time, awaiting official conference of my Master's degree from Brooklyn College, I am wearing black.  A black gown with a draped hood-like thing that no one seems to know how to adjust.  The gown for which I had to spend an hour getting measured for, carefully filling out
an order form with all the details, right down to my toe size...only to be
issued a general-sized sheath which proudly proclaimed "medium" on the
package.  In fact, it seems the preparation time spent getting ready to
attend this June commencement celebration was at a truly skewed ratio to the time spent at the actual ceremony.

A break-down is as follows.  First there was the time measuring myself for the cap and gown.  The gown I already discussed.  The cap sizing was a tad more difficult.  I was at work at the time and, after finding a co-worker I could trust enough to wrap something around my head without cutting off my oxygen, I then had to search for something to wrap around my head to measure it.  I finally found a yellow twine that originally kept a two-ton crate of copy paper intact and a ruler.   "You shouldn't be doing this in a government office -- what if someone should walk in and see that?" another co-worker scolded as I sat near the computer with yellow twine wound round my skull.  Me and the measuring worker jumped with  paranoia, hurriedly trying to hide the twine, only to realize she was referring to something totally unrelated.  To make a long story shorter, my head size is 7 1/8".  Then there is the time spend buying the ultimate sundress to wear to the ceremony -- never mind that it is going to be totally hidden by the large, black cloak for the entire duration.   The dress has to be not too sexy but not too froufrou; not too flashy but not too drab; doesn't say "beach" but doesn't scream "church."  Time spent running from store to store all over Brooklyn looking for perfect graduation sundress: 8 hours, 7 minutes.  Time spent in line purchasing sundresses I knew damn well I wasn't ever going to wear anywhere near graduation ceremonies but wanted to own anyway: 5 hours, 15 minutes (plus 30 seconds if you count the polka dot number that made me look like a badly deflating circus tent that I ALMOST bought but then put back at the last second).

Next we have the time spent diligently listening to the weather report of the big day for a week preceding the day: 3 hours, 54 minutes.  Time spent worrying about the weather of the big day:  3 hours, 55 minutes.  Time spent reminding myself I cannot do anything about the weather anyway: 3 hours, 56 minutes.  Time spent picking up graduation tickets and trying to smile as if highly amused when they handed me an orange lollipop and  stamped a smiley face on my hand: 2 hours, 18 minutes.  Time spent wondering if I should try to get an extra ticket and then not bothering to even attempt to get one anyway: 77 minutes.   Time spent buying shoes to go with all my new sundresses: 13 minutes.  Time spent buying shoes to go with the sundress I was actually going to wear: 2 minutes.  Time spent buying a bikini because it was in one of the stores that could have had a sundress I may have wanted to wear on the big day: 27 minutes.

Finally, the last minute details.  Time spent trying (note the word "trying") to iron the gown: half an hour.  Time spent trying on the hat with different hairstyles: 4 minutes.  Time spent trying to figure out how to position  draped hood-like thing: (at home) 40 minutes, (on campus) an additional 45 minutes.  Total preparation time: 80 days, 4 hours, 7 minutes.  Time of total commencement: roughly an hour.

But it was an hour well spent, a culmination of my almost 10 years at that
"venerable institution" as someone had termed Brooklyn College in one of
their pleasingly brief speeches during the ceremony.  It was a time to reflect on all I have accomplished with the help of so many.

If you think this is going to turn into one of those sappy nostalgia columns
about "thanks to all the people who helped me" then you are probably right.  

But I'll make it brief.

There's the professors.  When I knew I wanted to study English, I knew I had to attend Brooklyn College.  Not only are the majority of their  professors highly intelligent, proficient and encouraging, but they are also published.

Much thanks to my mentor, author of several thrilling novels and an eye for my warped sense of humor.  Also thanks to my thesis advisors -- one of whom came up with the subject "Occupational Folklore of New York City Subway Workers" -- both of whom stayed by my side until the very last typo correction -- and beyond!   I cannot start naming names or I would simply have to cut and paste the entire English Department faculty list right about here.  And it's not only the English Department with stellar   professors.  I have had the pleasure of experiencing some of the best instruction across the board, peppered with encouragement, enthusiasm and, yes, plenty of homework.

The classmates.   The staff of student newspaper, "The Excelsior," some of whom I still keep in contact with today.  In fact, one of these funny and
intelligent writers helped me nab my current job.  Other classmates have
been supportive and willing to cram  at weird hours right before finals or
practice the acting scene "just one more time...."  Even the students who
were not particularly scholarly showed me a pathway of what NOT to do.

My family.  Never mind the ceaseless tuition payments and the moaning and groaning they had to hear every time a test with more than three pages was in my near future.  These guys stuck by me like atoms needing covalent bonds (an example of retaining chemistry lessons).  They were
always there to cheer me on and shuttle me back into line if need be.
And then there's the boyfriend.  Here's the paragraph where I would break into song but frankly, Mitch hates how I sing and always chimes "keep it down."  This guy has surely been a trooper.  He has sat through student plays, foreign films -- with me pressing rewind constantly to catch a phrase I missed, like "Le" -- and plenty of acting and speech rehearsals until I was purple in the face and he blue in the ears.

He has lived through shredded cliff notes, tears of anguish after not
understanding the pronunciation of "maïs" on an oral exam and getting it
wrong, the fully-detailed plot analysis of every episode of "Fraiser" for my
TV/Radio classes.  He has lived through diphthongs, oral formulaic poetry, a temper tantrum as a result of "Moby Dick."  He has lived through my thesis: an entire train car full of subway stories, my reams of self-doubt, tales of tracking down workers who told me of decapitated bodies and heads smoldering on the rails with smoke billowing out of the nose.  He has gotten up at 5 a.m. to help me study -- wait!   He never did that!  But he has done enough.  More than enough.  And the thing I remember the most is freshman orientation, with Mitch at my side, and me contemplating my upcoming agenda.  At the time I thought I was going for a four-year bachelor's degree yet was still overwhelmed.  I remember shrieking: "O My God I can't do this!" and he calmly stating "Yes, you can...and I'll be right here waiting for you at the end when you're done."  Almost a decade and two degrees later -- he was.  And he is.

Read Ryn's poem about a graduation gift, "New Bracelet."