Graduation

As we were standing in line in the auditorium hall carefully assigned by the first letter of our last name, I noticed members of my music sorority, from which I had recently resigned, assembling in a small empty room right off the hallway. Six of my former music fraternity brothers were finding their spaces in the rooms, and kneeling, as they had many times before, next to a few of my former sisters. It was a moment for serenade.

I stopped briefly to look into the room. The serenade was a ritual I had become accustomed to during my years in the sorority. Unfortunately, though I had a love of the pomp and circumstance of the serenade, I dreaded the experience. The thought of carefully balancing my curvy body on the small, trembling knee of one of my brothers as he attempted to sing was not my idea of a good time.

I smiled at everyone, saying hello, and then turned to go. “Where are you going, Jen?” one of the brothers asked me. “Oh, I resigned from the sorority a few weeks ago,” I explained. “But you’re still one of our sisters,” another one said, taking my hand.

Moments later, as I stood next to John, a portly fraternity brother I had become friends with, the boys knelt down on one knee in a scattered circle, and my sisters and I took our seats. I wrapped my arm around John’s neck, as I had only a few times before, and the boys began to sing.

Carefully balancing myself on John’s knee, my smile spread from ear to ear as the boys sang their tune. I beamed, enjoying the beautiful song, the collection of friends, the final serenade of my college career. And for the first time in four years, I was able to focus more on the serenade and less on my wobbly seat.