Tag: graduation

Graduation vs. Commencement

If you’re like me, your social media feeds are filled with joyous celebration photos from high school graduations and college commencements across the country. This is the season of endings and beginnings.

Last year we had the former. This year we have the latter. All this pomp and circumstance has me contemplating the differences between graduation and commencement, “with all the honors, privileges, and responsibilities thereto appertaining.”

A young man in a blue cap and gown
Harris was our high school graduate last year.
Graduates in caps and gowns cross a stage and receive their diploma from the principal
The moment Harris was officially done with high school.
Young man in blue graduation cap and gown with his mother on a crowded field
Last year Harris made time for a photo op with his biggest fan.
A young man in sunglasses and a graduation robe in front of stone wall and flowers
Our UGA grad will soon be a UGA employee! Barron’s career begins in June in the Office of University Architects.
Graduates in caps and gowns exit a theater
The theater at the Classic Center was packed for the convocation for Barron’s school within UGA, the College of Family and Consumer Sciences. That was the ceremony we heard his name called.
A family with their college graduate in a robe
We celebrated Barron’s Commencement May 10 at UGA.

Merriam-Webster says “graduation” is “the award or acceptance of an academic degree or diploma” while “commencement” is “the ceremonies or the day for conferring degrees or diplomas.” Either way, it seems degrees are involved, according to Merriam and Webster.

Technically, the words are synonymous and therefore interchangeable. However, “commence” also means “to have or make a beginning, start.” That’s the chief difference between the two in my mind. 

Graduation marks the end of high school. Commencement marks the beginning of a career.

I know that graduation from high school can be the beginning of college or a job and that commencement can be the end of college, but for me, the associations are graduation equals end and commencement equals beginning.

That’s how it has played out for us. Last year when our middle son, Harris, walked across the platform at Parkview High School, it very much felt like the end. He was saying “goodbye” to high school friends, marching band, mock trial and living at home.

Harris recently concluded his first year at Mercer and that was an amazing beginning to his college experience. He was named Mercer’s outstanding freshman, competed in intercollegiate Mock Trial and worked in the Center for Career and Professional Development. But at the time he was handed his Parkview diploma after delivering one of the speeches, we didn’t know any of that was in store.

Wwen our oldest finished at Parkview, it was the end of a great high school career. Graduation similarly ended Barron’s high school marching band experience, which was his signature extra curricular activity. Watching him lead the band as drum major for two years was a dream come true for him and for us.

Georgia’s Commencement on May 10 officially ended Barron’s marching band career, which included serving as Kennesaw State’s drum major for the one season COVID robbed them of football and playing trumpet at back-to-back national championship wins for the Dawgs. But the entire day of his Commencement from his college’s convocation in the afternoon to the big ceremony that night, we all felt like he was celebrating a new beginning.

Barron will be working in the UGA Office of University Architects beginning in June, and unlike some college graduates who have trouble landing that first job, (me included) he received his diploma with a job already in place. 

In three short years we’ll be celebrating high school graduation with our youngest, Carlton, and another college commencement with Harris. I’m sure I will look at these ceremonies again with fresh eyes, and we will be confronting a new set of endings and beginnings.

I think it’s most important with each of these milestones for all of my boys that I stay in the moment and take in the experience. Both ceremonies are special and deserve my utmost attention.

So if you find yourself in a folding chair or the stadium bleachers this graduation and commencement season, and you are contemplating what it all means, I think you should savor the endings and anticipate the beginnings. It all goes by so fast.

Dear Class of 1988

This week our middle son, Harris, graduated from Parkview High School in Lilburn, Ga., with all the usual pomp, circumstance, cheers, tears, and, of course, speeches.

Parkview’s graduation speakers included the valedictorian, salutatorian, and several members of the senior class who were selected from two-minute auditions. Harris’s speech, titled “Unlimited Potential” was chosen, and he delivered it beautifully, receiving an affirming response. (You can see the entire speech, it’s about three-and-a-half-minutes long, at my post on Facebook.)

At my alma mater, Lake Wales High School in Lakes Wales, Florida, graduation was held in the winter home of the Black Hills Passion Play, an outdoor amphitheater tucked away in a giant orange grove. Against the backdrop of downtown Jerusalem, the speakers were the valedictorian and salutatorian. I graduated third in my class – the first boy, as my mother liked to point out – just out of the running to give a speech.

Lance Wallace in his cap and gown at graduation in 1988.
The Lake Wales High School “Crown Jewel” yearbook photographer captured a young Lance Wallace on graduation night 1988. The black-and-white image only reinforces what my boys already believe about my age.

At the time I don’t remember being all that disappointed, but after seeing Harris knock it out of the park, it made me wonder what 18 year-old me would have told the Class of 1988. So let’s climb into Marty McFly’s DeLorean – a warm-up cultural reference to get you in the right mindset to revisit 1988 – here’s my undelivered high school graduation speech, with the benefit of hindsight but the hindrance of 35 years of elapsed time:

Class of 1988, you did it! You made it to this night earning your high school diploma. You are now officially educated. The piece of parchment Mr. Windham will hand you on this stage in just a few minutes is an official testament that you have completed the requirements for high school set by Polk County and the state of Florida.

And honestly, that’s about it.

This diploma does not mean you are smart. Regardless if you are wearing a National Honors Society sash or honor cords or if you have some Latin words following your name in the program, I know from experience you are an intelligent group, smart enough to achieve whatever you set your mind to. You are capable people with a variety of gifts and abilities, and academics and credentials don’t even begin to convey your intellect. 

This diploma does not mean you possess good character. The decisions you have made inside and outside of the classroom these past four years say way more about your values and beliefs than passing 12th grade. When you made poor choices, you learned from them. When you made good choices, hopefully you were appropriately rewarded. You know right from wrong, and you have the capacity to make the world better.

This diploma does not mean you are talented. I’ve seen what you can do. From our gifted athletes to dedicated musicians to our service club members to home economics experts to members of the workforce and Future Farmers of America, you have displayed an array of gifts not measured by red ink on test papers. You are the future workforce and creators ready to fill floppy disks and VHS tapes with ideas and innovations and creative expression. You possess all the talent you need to make your mark.

This diploma does not mean you are a good friend. I experienced the best of what the Class of 1988 can be in loving and accepting each other when I transferred to Lake Wales High School my sophomore year. I knew maybe five or six of you, and still, you welcomed me with open arms. Whether it was Miss Lee’s AP calculus class, the yearbook staff, the basketball and football teams, the Academic Team or FCA, I never felt excluded and always found a friendly face in every group. You have demonstrated care and concern for each other, and that will take you far.

And finally, this diploma does not mean you have the faith you need to see you through life’s challenges. Obviously, y’all heard my dad Sunday night at Baccalaureate, so you know how I have grown up. Being a preacher’s kid does subject you to scrutiny and can make you feel isolated. But in addition to being friendly, what I saw in the Class of 1988 is a yearning for faith and a commitment to God that transcended denominations and worship styles. As a group, you have a foundation to build on and to draw on when you face difficult days.

Lake Wales High School yearbook pages on graduation in 1988.
Here’s why you purchased that yearbook: to inflict memories on your children and unsuspecting blog readers 35 years later.

So I leave you with this bit of wisdom I heard from Coach Hale back this summer during two-a-days while running wind sprints at the end of practice. With temperatures in the 90s and relative humidity hovering around 100%, he blew his whistle and yelled: “Sometimes you’ve got to puke on the run!”

I’m not sure I fully appreciated that sentiment at the time, but today, on our last day of high school, I think it means you have to be resilient, have fortitude, persevere. That diploma you are about to be handed doesn’t bestow it on you, but it’s a pretty good indication that at one time or another during these past four years, you’ve had to puke on the run.

Congratulations, Class of 1988. It’s been real.

As I recall, Kendra Lawrence and Esther Wine gave appropriately inspirational speeches without any references to vomiting, so it’s probably a good thing I didn’t get to give a speech. 

Congratulations to the Class of 2023!

Did you give a speech at your graduation? What did you say? Have you had a burning desire to pass on your wisdom to your classmates? Leave a comment with excerpts from your own undelivered speech and join the conversation.