Convocation marks the achievement. What comes next?

From left, my convocation photos:
Bachelor of Arts (major in literary translation French to English)/University of Alberta, Edmonton. Bachelor of Journalism/King's College, Halifax. Master of Arts in applied communication/Royal Roads University, Victoria.

When I was just 17, I didn’t understand the significance. By 22, I had figured it out, and by 28 and then 46, I knew the drill: Go to school, study hard, learn lots (not necessarily in the classroom), earn sufficient credits to be awarded the diploma or degree — and then don the cap and gown and walk across the stage to receive it. Pomp and circumstance have their place, and that place is at convocation, which marks the end of all the months and years of work and provides a moment to celebrate the achievement of all the hard work.

But the extended impact of convocation ceremonies hit me only after I had finished my final degree and was now in the teaching role at my local college. Twice a year, instructors were asked to attend the convocation ceremonies to witness the happy students — and their probably happier and definitely prouder parents — celebrate their achievement. The line of instructors walked in as a group, each of us wearing the appropriate gown-and-hood for our own most senior degree; we took our seats, and then spent a not-always-scintillating-but-always-moving evening watching the many students receive their parchment.

It never failed to move me, sometimes bringing me to tears, when the child of a graduand would call out from the auditorium: That’s my mom! or Way to go, Dad! It takes persistence and commitment to earn any qualification, but to do so while also being a parent surely takes that much more. I was happy for the whole family who had survived the experience!

Some students walked confidently across the stage, taking the time to savour the moment and enjoy their handshake with the dean or president. Some marked the moment with a gesture of, maybe, defiance to the authorities or, maybe, private meaning for their family members in the audience. Others were nervous, clearly anxious to make it across the stage and down the stairs before the import of the moment and all those eyes on them caused them to trip and fall.

In my classroom, it was this moment that I would talk about with the students during every program’s job-search module. I stressed the need to learn how to give a confident and professional handshake — no weak and feeble hands, please! Own the moment: Look the other person in the eye, reach out, and communicate with a confident motion of the now-joined hands that you are in the spotlight receiving exactly what you have earned — and that you know it. Yes, a simple handshake conveys a lot.

Many students did precisely that on the convocation stage, but many didn’t, and it was those students I wondered about long after the ceremonies were over. How would those young people make their way in the world? What path would they forge for themselves? How would the world treat them as they cautiously negotiated their place in it?

At my own third convocation, I (finally) had both the self-knowledge and the personal confidence to know exactly what that degree could do for me and how I would use it to further my career: A masters in applied communication would open the door to teaching for me. I didn’t yet know how much I would love the work, but I knew the degree would give me the chance to explore teaching as an option. I embraced the path and spent 15 very satisfying years at the college before moving into retirement from full-time work.

When I look back over the decades since graduating from high school, I can see the path that developed as I forged it, always with communication and connection at its centre. Today, I continue that path as writer and community educator — two identities I did not imagine for myself in 1977 when I skipped my high school convocation ceremony for time in Europe, learning how to be an au pair (nanny) and refining my French-language speaking skills.

So, while I don’t have a photo of me receiving my Grade 12 diploma, I carry in my mind the sense that where I have arrived today has, in some way, its origins in my decision back then to expand my horizons well beyond the borders of both my high school city and my home country. For that is the promise education offers us: Convocation is optional, but seizing the possibilities and potential that we have created for ourselves — that is essential, always.

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Land acknowledgement: I respectfully recognize that I live on the original lands of Anishinaabe, Cree, Oji-Cree, Dakota and Dene peoples, and on the homeland of the Métis Nation.