Don't graduation speakers supply enough merriment to fill a day?
Why do members of every graduating class seem to feel that it isn't sufficiently entertaining to sit on folded chairs in the sun or rain for several hours, hear about being the hope of the future and making it a better world, and on top of that, listen to all of their names being read out, one after another, some correctly pronounced?
Why do they all feel that the day will soon begin to drag unless they supply some extra fun?
It isn't Miss Manners who is brooding on this question, but disgruntled members of these same classes, their relatives and an occasional professor or administrator. Every year, after graduations are enlivened by demonstrations of joy and of protest, by duct-taped messages on top of caps and hiked up gowns, by young parents' displaying their children and older parents' making displays of themselves by cheering and jockeying to photograph their children, some participants complain that the day has been spoiled.
Graduation is, they point out, an important ceremonial occasion, and not one huge dormitory party. Miss Manners agrees, and tries to listen sympathetically to the specific complaints.