Finally, in June of 1983, my high school graduation day came. I’d never thought I’d get this far.
Knowing that I’d be graduating high school was mostly a relief. It meant I was going to have some freedom (I’d hoped), and it also represented “the edge of the known world” for me. At this point, I’d come closer to knowing what kinds of subjects interested me, but I still wasn’t sure if there’d be a next step for me, academically. I didn’t know what I wanted to do in life.
High school had changed me though. It had shown me a bigger world where independence and self-reliance were more important than ever, and that I could succeed if I really tried. It had also shown me that I preferred my own company to the company of others most of the time, and that high school culture did not reward this introverted tendency. I really hated team sports and competition but I really enjoyed solitary pursuits with individual challenges.
It seemed that I was pretty good with arts and languages, and that I didn’t like most men very much – the manlier and more macho guys made me nervous, except for my homeroom and art teacher Mister Prinsen, and my ceramics teacher Mr. Midtal. They made me feel calm and supported.
You might notice that I’ve described all the psychological, developmental, or values-related lessons that I learned from high school, and none of the factual or skills-based experiences. That’s because all the math, science, shop, phys-ed, english lit, or french language cannot make you a better person deep-down. Over the years, good chunks of those academic subjects have been helpful to me and have spurred further explorations, but none of the facts I learned actually bolstered my character, improved my self-image, or prepared me for adulthood.
The only subject that really calmed me in high school was art. Up till that point in my life, I’d felt like a loser deep inside, not worth much, unseen, and uncelebrated. But art always made sense to me, and the tone and structure of art class always appealed to me. It felt calm, free, and natural, like I was in a familiar, safe space. Throughout high school, my grades had hovered around the letter C, but as I progressed to grade 12, with English 12 as my only mandatory class, I loaded my schedule up with art, design, and literature courses, and I was rewarded later with the first B and A grades of my life.
Looking back at Grade 9, I’d thought that I’d need to keep taking French as a requirement to possibly get into university one day, but by Grade 11 I’d totally given up on that idea. As Grade 12 approached, I told myself to just take whatever the hell I wanted. I was getting no pressure or coaching from my Dad in regards to any after-high-school academic direction. Dad had never finished high school and had completed his Grade 12 equivalency and vocational training while serving in the air force. He was neither an academic nor an artist, but he never discouraged me though – mostly because I think he didn’t understand the direction that I might need to take any more than I did.
I have a memory of my Dad having a conversation with my homeroom and art teacher Mr. Prinsen. It must have been a Parent-Teacher conference or something, but I recall Mr. Prinsen saying how I could work in graphic design or some kind of commercial art. My Dad speculated that I could have a day job doing illustrations and photography for Safeway grocery story flyers (the kind of commercial art he’d have seen every week), and maybe do my own painting or something in my spare time. I didn’t think I wanted to be a commercial artist at the time, and the idea of doing Safeway’s newspaper flyers was the least exciting thing I could imagine, but when I look back on it now, the fact that my Dad was trying to visualize my future in an arts-related career is pretty supportive in its own right, and damned-near prescient.
By my senior year, I’d begun to understand that many of my struggles in school were rooted in the internal anxieties that I carried with me from home, and that my natural preoccupation with stress and uncertainty at home had caused me to feel anxious in any unfamiliar context at school. Stress and dysfunction at home had always been dragging me down in some way. In my private life, drawing and colouring, or reading and absorbing visual media had always been a comfortable and safe refuge for me. It seems natural that I would prosper in that context at school too.
Graduation Time
Graduation day was a bright sunny day. All the kids were dressed to the nines. Denim jackets and blue jeans were replaced by frilled shirts, elegant gowns, and dark suit jackets. The joy and overall energy level was so high!
I was decked-out in my new navy blue suit from Sears and one of Dad’s blue-striped ties. I felt simultaneously self-conscious, bright and scrubbed, and somewhat special inside. Accompanying me was my Dad, my sister Kim, my Aunty Molly, and my date was my fomer girlfriend, Stella.
Seeing classmates dressed up and behaving their finest was so strange to me. It felt like not the same school, and not the same people: everyone looked so different, yet all so much better.
We all looked beautiful, but looking especially elegant was a girl I’ll call Diana Danielson, whom I was seeing for the first time since having her briefly as my square dance partner two years earlier. Diana had always seemed a classy, confident girl with a beautiful smile and a deep, confident voice, but she was especially stunning that day, with her long straight blonde hair, and what I remember as a red satin dress. She said “Hello John” to shy me, and I blushed a very self-conscious hello back to her, and we may have shared a few words. In truth, she ‘d appealed to me ever since we were back in Grade 5 in MacCorkindale Elementary. I think their was a whiff of dignity about her that made her appealing yet unattainable – and better than me – but in that little moment of mutual recognition, she was kind to me, and genuine.
Killarney’s large main gymnasium was flanked by bleachers on each side, and the polished wooden floor was covered in rows of folding chairs. Each graduating class was grouped into rows, from sections A through whatever letter was the last. My group was H. I remember us shuffling up into line when it was close to our time, and the tension, laughs and chatter in line. I remember the amount of cheering that some students got when they crossed the stage, and how some others got a little less. I watched how everyone shook the principal’s hand and received their diploma, and how the vice-principal smiled at them so brightly. It was really happening! I felt the old stage fright come back in the pit of my stomach, but I ignored it and focused on how I would breathe, smile, and not trip when my turn came.
Sure enough, I walked across the stage, feeling tall and not self-conscious, and I didn’t trip. As our Prinipal Mr. Sugimoto congratulated me and handed me my diploma, I remember hearing Kim and Stella screaming out from the stands, and feeling very proud of myself.
I really don’t remember much of the rest of the event, except that when it came time to take Stella home, Dad had given me cash to call for a cab. We drove back to Stella’s place and I walked her to her door, thanked her for being there, kissed her on the lips and trotted back to the waiting cab.
