Left, Right, Left, Right, Left (From Swindon Advertiser)

Left, Right, Left, Right, Left

4:38pm Saturday 6th November 2010

• Print
• Email
• Comments(3)

(Wednesday 3rd November)

Graduation is a beautifully odd thing.

Over a thousand rosy-cheeked ex-students took their seats as a representative from the University applauds and looks back on all of their achievements: 13 years of hard school and college work to get the grades to allow them to enter higher education. The tough decision of what Uni to go. Leaving the parents for the first time.

Saying goodbye to the lifelong friends, uncomfortably aware that you will eventually grow apart, but safe in the knowledge they will always love each other.

Acclimatising to new surroundings. Meeting new, scary people - people with confidence and sexual histories they never knew existed in kids the same age as themselves. Working out how to change a Henry Hoover bag. Cooking, cleaning, washing, tidying up for themselves.

Decoding the alien bus routes. Making it on time for the opening lecture. Keeping paperwork the size of the New Forest under control. Trying to look smarter than they are to fool lecturers in to believing they will graduate. Staying up through the night to complete every assignment. (Trying to remember what the hell the question for the assignment was and what the devil it means.)

Keeping their liver working. Connecting with people of all shapes, sizes, colours, religions, backgrounds and cultures. Conjuring up excuses to let Mr and Mrs Bank Manager to extend their overdraft. Surviving on £20 a week until the next pennies enter the account. Juggling a part time job with a full time education. Excelling in either paid or unpaid placements, knowing full well a full time job is a long way coming.

And finally, putting that pencil down, stepping out of the final exam hall and anxiously waiting to discover if all the money, the effort, the tears, the blood, the runny poos were actually worth it and they got the chance to graduate.

But they made it! The hard work paid off.

Rather than sitting with them, I was in the crowd, tucked up in the balcony looking down at those going through what I went through a year prior.

Each graduate was anxiously looking around the room trying to locate their mother, father, boyfriend, or girlfriend in the audience. They would instantly sit down after failing to spot them and continue to drown in their impractically put together cap and gown, the colour slowly sapping from their face as nerves engulfed them.

Was it nerves about the huge scale of attention being trust their way? Nerves about leaving the environment which became a second home and the unbelievably close friends within it? Nerves about either impending unemployment or full time adult employment?

No. I knew exactly what was going on.

They were nervous about climbing five steps and walking 30 feet across a perfectly flat stage!

2:2. 2:1. 1st. Masters. PhD. It didn’t matter. No matter what qualification they got, the thousand graduates, all aged either 21 or (in many cases) older, suddenly forgot how to perform the simple skill they have mastered for over two decades and crumbled.

What if I fly up the stairs? What if I stack it off the stage? What if I trip up and head butt the lady? What if my feet don’t move? What if my legs melt?

I was witnessing the future minds of our great nation regress to a state of panic and desperately wanting their Mummy.

It was great to watch. I laughed a lot. And I was thrilled I didn’t have to go through it again!

Tip of the cap to all of you.

Readers who submit articles must agree to our terms of use. The content is the sole responsibility of the contributor and is unmoderated. But we will react if anything that breaks the rules comes to our attention. If you wish to complain about this article, contact us here