Graduation Time!

Outside the Del Taco we usually go to for Taco Tuesday night was a little white trailer set up. It was toward the back of the parking lot and nothing spectacular to look at, except for the long trail of people stretching out and curving to the side, lined up and waiting to get to it.

“Cap and gowns,” my mom said after studying it, “must be for one of those huge high school graduations.”

Cap and gowns. Of course. It’s graduation time.

I get excited for graduations, probably because the thrill of mine is still fresh in my mind. I feel like I view graduations as a married woman would view a wedding. They’re still so happy about their own celebration that to see someone else get as happy doubles their joy.

I don’t know if it shows or not, but I don’t like school. I was ready to graduate by kindergarten when I decided that the “treasure chest” didn’t have as many “treasures” anymore.

But, you may be recalling, you were homeschooled?


I Was Homeschooled

Last week, when I went to the dentist, I had a fun interaction with the guy who did my x-rays. Just to break the silence, he asked me the usual empty questions like “did you get today off in school?” so I replied politely “no,” and that I had graduated already.

“Oh. What school did you go to?”

All my life, I’ve had to mentally and carefully assess my answer to this particular question. There are two ways to go about it: “Citrus Valley Christian Academy,” which is the politically correct answer, but then people want to know where that’s located and blabi-blah. Or, “I’m homeschooled,” which has a 95% success rate of killing any and every would-be conversation, stone dead. It’s really quite magical.

This particular morning I didn’t feel like getting into it, so those two magic words were the ones that came out of my mouth.

He stopped, x-ray-chip-thingy-halfway-to-my-mouth-now-left-suspended-in-air, and looked at me. “What school?”

This is when I knew. We were about to have a moment.