Grad

isa workin' in da ghetto

This morning, as I was approaching school, ready to face another dreadful day cooped up in a dingy sub-basement workshop, sniffing sawdust and varnish fumes while sipping on a jumbo latte, my only motivation, on the sprawling green grasses of the university, quite another scene was unfolding. As I entered the pearly gates (with the just-like-ivy-league-tuition they charge, I bet they are pearly!), anxious formal wearing crowds, bouquet stands, white tents and banquet tables were aplenty. Even my favorite statue (the dude to which I secretly wink every morn as he tips his hat), now grasped a dozen red baloons - damn I wish I had a cam, he looked so adorable. It was Grad.

I stood there, in my unshowered and rather 'ghetto' attire, mesmerized by the flow of students, decked in gown and cap, with but bare legs, heels, or slacks and polished shoes peeking from beneath. I watched the procession and got all emotional. A huge wave of pride took me over and I got all choked up. I was so proud of them, I even had to resist the urge to start clapping! (Them who? I don't even know a soul from the Faculty of Education - I had peeked at the program). I strolled away and sat in front of the Architecture building before entering, peering at the scene from afar. I just couldn't get over how beautiful this seemed. Sunny morning, proud parents, relieved students. Green grass, red baloons, white tents, black gowns. Soon, this would be me. I would finally have the orange sash. The grey dingy sub-basement was all the more tolerable. For the morning anyways...